Blinding Light
by RisingWinter
Summary: The streets were familiar to Hope – comfortable to him, really – but all he wants is to get a stable job in a stable hospital. Too bad the voices in his head make him look less than all that. Meanwhile, the fourteen-year-old Larsa works to keep his empire under control despite the interference of gods and men. Contains massive spoilers for both the XII and XIII series.
1. Chapter 1

It was just another day in Archades, Hope told himself as he fidgeted his fingers. He scrubbed at the dirt smudged on his skin while the dark-skinned, gruff officer before him scanned the contents of Hope's application. The office around them held lines of other kids his age, all wearing similarly worn clothing and unkempt hair. Hope pushed harder against the dirt, but only spread it further.

The officer glanced between him and the paper. Hope stiffened and straightened his back. The air in here was stifling, smelled heavily of sweat, and the buzzing and whirring of machinery sounded above them. Outside, ships zipped about, but he couldn't see them from this floor. As it was, he could see streets some five floors below them appearing as thin lines in the distance.

"You're aiming for a position in the hospital," the officer droned, "in the hybrid suite?"

Hope nodded a little too quick. "Yeah, I've been told by-"

"You're too young." The officer slapped the paper on the desk with a thud and pulled out a stamp. "Most in your position do well as apprentices for the local healers. We can contact one of the specialists with an opening."

"But that's an unpaid position."

The officer regarded him with a bored expression. "You think you can get paid, healing straight out of the orphanage? Do you know how many kids we got coming out of there and how little money we have going into your schooling?"

"I've been teaching myself. The orphanage was rudimentary, I admit, but-"

"No." The officer slapped the stamp on the paper with an echoing thud. "We'll contact you when we find an opening in the apprenticeships."

Hope's fingers went numb as he accepted the receipt the officer handed him before the man called out, "Next!"

He didn't stay to hear what the next boy got. All he could see was the "training required" printed out across the middle of the receipt underneath the section detailing a summary of his "alleged" capabilities.

"Well, well," came a raspy whisper from the back of his mind. "What did I tell you?"

Hope crumpled the paper in his stained hands. The teachers all assured him he was advanced and could make his way into the general hospital, told him the voice in his head was just a manifestation of his own lack of confidence.

"You know they were just lying, though. Those old women, going about convinced they could be rid of you faster if they use such appealing words."

Dozens of guards and officials bustled about, many of them leering at him as he passed. His kind wasn't welcome here – or really anywhere. He couldn't count how many times he'd heard of all the orphans who turned to gangs or other shady organizations to scrape their way in life. Many who failed the schooling program became pickpockets and thieves that attracted the attention of the policing force.

He found the elevator without trouble, but boarding led to him being trapped in a small crowd that shied as far away from him as they could.

"You don't belong here," whispered the voice. "You've always known that you belong to something greater – something beyond what this world has to offer."

Madness.

"Not madness. Don't fear the light, little one, for it marks great things unto which you shall attain."

The bell dinged at the bottom floor and Hope slipped as far away from the people as he could. He had a _chance_ at an apprenticeship, which he wouldn't even start on until a position opened up.

Hope left through the front door and the streets of Archades filled his view. Bodies pushed past him, tempting Hope to use one of the tricks he'd picked up from the orphanage. One rough hand collided with his head and he slammed into the stone below him. He caught himself, but not before his chin scraped the ground and knocked his teeth together.

It was just another day in Archades.

"Why do you continue to tolerate these creatures?"

Hope pulled himself back to his feet, face stinging. "Because," he said, "this is _reality_."

The voice growled in offense.

Though the doctor recommended fighting against the voice, pushing back always seemed to encourage it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of what looked like rose petals floating his way. But when he turned to see where they came from, the image dispersed to reveal the trailing debris of a nearby factory. Particles of charcoal.

Hope hurried on down the street and avoided the looks of anyone around him.

"You want insanity? What else would you see in the mindless repetition and justification you provide yourself when I've given you such a clear path to your goals?"

It was the voice's fault, Hope thought as he rushed back to the orphanage. If it weren't for him being crazy, then he would have a better chance at getting a real job. It was the voice's fault that he couldn't start saving up.

"And what would you save for, hm? Your own practice where you take on unpaid apprentices yourself? Getting into the academy that only accepts the best of the best? They don't care about money there, child, they care about prestige, background, and _wealth_."

"I don't care," Hope mumbled, hoping no one heard him.

He stopped before the doors of the orphanage, where he heard children not much younger than him scurrying about to get to lunch on time. He longed to go in, but they required a fee now that he was older.

The sun beat down on him from its position halfway in the sky and he held a hand to his eyes to shield them from its burning rays. "It's too warm to freeze at night and so long as I can find shade during the day, being homeless may not kill me."

"Optimistic words. I hope you know what you're getting into."

Hope swallowed at the thought of living in the streets of Old Archades for however long it took for those at the office to process his request. Much as he hated the thought of working for free, being an apprentice would secure him a bed each night for up to a year.

People bustled around him, voices blending into an incomprehensible din. Hope wished the volume of the crowd could drown out the low rumbling of the voice. "I've heard of some of them picking up odd jobs," Hope said. "Perhaps I can find someone willing to let me help with some of those."

"Don't be optimistic. Most of these people would kill you sooner than look at you."

"Maybe."

The voice didn't respond to that, its rumbling gone quiet. Hope took that as a good sign and left in search of the first inn he could find – he'd heard that those places offered miscellaneous jobs in exchange for a little compensation and maybe it would keep him from returning to the underground magic exchanges.

On the way, he could swear he felt eyes burrowing into his back, but he learned long ago to dismiss such notions. He was insane, after all.

He paused in his way after almost running headfirst into a man in tight leather and a fine dress shirt. He didn't wear the finery typical to nobility, so Hope assumed him to be one of those brigands that he heard stalked the roads at night. Interesting that it was the middle of the day, though.

"Oi," said the man, stopping to look at him with intent eyes. His voice didn't match most street prowlers. "Didn't your parents tell you that staring is rude?"

"Sorry," Hope said as the man turned again and continued on his way. Hope watched him for a moment before hurrying on. He caught sight of other strangers in the crowd, like a scantily-dressed lady with pistols at her hips, a dark-skinned man wearing green robes after a style he'd never seen even in stories, and a boy with a staff twice as large as Hope was.

He hurried on.

It was just another day in Archades, after all.

* * *

Larsa remembered nightmares some time ago. He remembered standing before the windows that adorned this office and worrying that he would slip though and fall to his death. Vayne used to assure him that the glass was as tough as a judge's armor and would require the assault of a sizeable fleet to get to Larsa. That wasn't particularly reassuring, but he didn't tell Vayne.

And now he didn't feel a twinge of fear, not at the thought of falling, at least. He feared at the thought of being trapped in here for the rest of his days. He hated these windows for the entrapment they provided.

A knock sounded at the door to his office and Larsa answered, "Enter."

It opened to reveal the silver-haired girl. "I found him," she said simply before shutting the door behind her and falling into one of the chairs.

Him. It took a moment for Larsa to remember her goal on this world. "The boy?"

"Hardly a boy anymore, but yes. I think he's your age, actually."

Larsa set his hands on the desk. "And?"

"And he doesn't remember." Seven put a finger to her lip in thought. "It's not abnormal, but I might step away for a few years."

"A few years?" repeated Larsa. "Was your issue not of a time-sensitive nature?"

"It's… kind of complicated."

"How many years?"

"If he's not remembering now, it'll be closer to when he's twenty-four. Ten years, give or take."

"… I see."

"It could take me a bit to get a good day next decade, so I'll wait around for a bit first, just in case." Seven pulled a pen from the table beside her and flipped it between her fingers. "If you don't have anyone else coming by, I might just keep that room you gave me for the next week or so."

Larsa pulled back and rested against his chair. "Of course."

"I'll keep an eye on the sun cycles. Let you know." Seven made for the door again and gave a foreign gesture. "I suggest you all increase your vigilance, because having one of these guys on your world doesn't tend to be a good sign. Especially this kid."

"Of course." Larsa frowned as she left and rested his chin on his hands. He didn't know where he and Archadia would stand in ten years, much less what would become of the boy Seven was looking for.

A sudden fatigue and Larsa squinted his eyes shut. A familiar sensation, and one that never left him after it started with that fight on the Bahamut. A faint ache in his back.

It lasted as long as usual and within moments his energy returned to him.

Pulled out a sheet of paper and got to writing a response to Penelo, something he'd put off for too long. Her last letter requested a visit, and Larsa had yet to decide on a day. He preferred to sort out this issue with Basch first, but alas.

He thought for a moment that he should put off the visit longer. But he knew that if he did that, they would no doubt schedule it themselves and arrive unannounced within the month. And then Larsa would have to deal with the inevitable fallout and that left him with a sickening sense of unease.

The door opened again to let in Basch, who shut the door behind him and removed his helmet, revealing sweat-slick hair.

"Impeccable timing," Larsa said.

"The protests in the residential square have been resolved," Basch said. "No casualties."

"Good. Were the perpetrators caught?"

"Some." Basch tucked the helmet under his arm. "Witnesses reported at least six culprits, but we only apprehended three. I've sent them to the dungeons for assessment."

"Well enough. I suspect they won't give up their answers easily."

"It is not common in men like these."

"It'll be difficult to resolve, but for now, I should hope that this is an isolated incident."

Basch turned his gaze to the window. "It'll take some searching."

Larsa tapped the paper he used to start the response to his friend sky pirates. "Vaan and Penelo would like to visit in the near future. Have you any opinion on the matter?"

"I suspect you know how I would respond."

"I can't turn them away every time, Gabranth." Larsa set the paper down with a sigh. "Naïve as it may be, I would like to believe they've matured since they last came."

"If that is your desire."

Larsa fingered his chin. "It is. I should take proper precaution as it is – Vaan takes a liking to every artifact he sees. Perhaps we can sequester them to the eastern wing?"

Basch remained quiet for a moment. Larsa got used to him processing without any visual hints of it – no furrowed brow or narrowed eyes. Finally he said, "That might work, Majesty. With some additional supervision."

"Of course. As such, Seven tells me that the search for Estheim may require a ten-year wait."

"I see." Basch looked him in the eye. "And might I warrant a reminder as to how this pertains to us?"

Larsa stood and gathered the skirts of his robes. The tailor swore he would grow into it, but they must have accounted for a year's worth of hem because months later it still trailed after him. "Seven swears it's for the good of this country and even the planet, though I've yet to see any evidence of it. So long as she leaves no violence in her wake, I see no harm in it."

"But what profit?"

The question had Larsa draw up short. "I couldn't say. But I should like to trust her all the same."

"Yet the more we trust another, the easier for them to hurt us."

The world swam in his eyes and he remembered Vayne. Remembered Gabranth. "Your brother redeemed himself in your eyes in the end, didn't he?"

"Didn't yours?"

Larsa forced down a breath. "No, Gabranth. You're right. Perhaps I should take better care around such an unknown person." Circled around the desk and stopped before those windows that scared him not two years ago. He imagined wandering those streets again and tasting the sweetness of freedom that came with no escorts and no bindings "And how goes your endeavors with Zargabaath?"

"We make progress."

"The Judge Magisters don't deserve a long sleep." Larsa turned back to face him. "I should hope you'll inform me of any obstacles which I can address."

"I will." Basch's face remained stony and Larsa hated that he couldn't read any emotion in the man's face. He hid his emotions better than Gabranth and that was no small feat. "Judge Zargabaath does much of the work and deserves commendation for such."

Larsa held up a hand. "And he will receive it." Paused at another bout of fatigue and waited for it to pass.

"… Majesty."

"Don't think anything of it." Larsa took hold of his chair to steady himself. "It'll pass."

Basch stepped forward without a release and stopped beside him. "You should rest."

Larsa placed a hand on Basch's arm and the fatigue finally passed. "There. It's done."

"Does it improve?"

"Yes." Larsa pulled back and waved Basch away. "Slowly, but yes."

"But two years have passed."

"And I've improved by leaps and bounds. I don't faint anymore, nor lose the strength in my fingers. A moment of weakness is all it is."

Basch took an obedient step back. "Of course."

"Do you dream, Gabranth?"

"… At times, yes."

"What about?"

"Nabudis. Dalmasca. Enacting my role as Judge."

Larsa took his seat at the desk again. "Are they pleasant?"

"At times."

"Do you think this palace safe? That is to say, this glass doesn't leave me reassured."

"I think this room as safe as one can find this side of the desert."

"Thank you, Gabranth. That's reassuring. Though it leaves some desire for open air, or even a breeze through a window."

Basch looked between him and the windows. "You'll attend a conference in Rabanastre before much longer. Perhaps you can bide your time until then."

"I can." The thought left a lingering sense of weight in his limbs. "Though it's not particularly appealing, I have practiced myself well in the act."

"Have you?"

Larsa hesitated. "My trips made in the past are not definitive to my habits now. I've not left an escort since Giza."

"Must I impress the importance of our protection?"

"No." He remembered Gabranth's dying words. Remembered his last breath. Remembered the life fading from his eyes while he held Larsa's hand.

After an extended pause, Basch finally relented. "I can arrange for a guarded tour of the gardens erected on the south side of the palace. The war memorial provides an expansive walk if utilized."

But it wasn't the same as living and breathing the same air as normal people. As stopping by bakeries and smelling the sweetness of candy shops. It wasn't the same as sitting in a crowd and listening to the common day discussions made by those concerned with fashions and popular opinion. As meeting new people and learning their stories.

"That's kind of you, Gabranth. I appreciate your thoughtfulness and I look forward to it."


	2. Chapter 2

After a week, Hope opened the aged and weathered door to find most of the other children already there. The sun barely sunk over the horizon, leaving streaks of red shining through the gaps in the walls. During the night, wind drafted through those walls like there was nothing there.

"There you are!" cried the Matron, rising from her position at her desk and smelling like medicine. "What took you so long?"

Hope frowned and pulled out his envelope's worth of earnings. "I've earned enough for the night."

"Yes, yes." The older woman wrung her hands. "I'm proud of you, but you missed the responses from the recruiters."

"What?" Hope darted glances around at the other kids, most of those still awake being his own age. They ran under the same deadline to get a position by the end of the month. "What did they say?"

The lady chewed on her lip. "They had few positions open. The rest won't be available for… some time."

Hope felt his heart drop to his stomach. "Anything else? What other options do they have?"

She shook her head. "White magic and medicine is a difficult field to follow, so you'll have to find other ways in. I still recommend you find something else."

Hope stuttered, "Magic is all I have!"

"I would recommend trying black because I'm afraid there's just not a lot of space for you to fit in."

"I don't see why!"

She gestured, "How about you sleep for now? You can try looking again in the morning."

That was it. He couldn't bring himself to accept it, but he knew that shouting at the Matron wouldn't help matters. "Fine." He gripped his satchel closer. "Tomorrow."

He pushed forward and made his way to a bed with not a little difficulty. He caught some jeering looks from the kids that harassed him regularly, but the rest were either sympathetic or didn't have the time to pay him any heed.

"Hey, Hope!" A dark boy bounced his way. "Long time, no see, huh?"

Hope drew up short – he didn't remember him, but maybe the boy entered the orphanage shortly before Hope left. "Hello?"

"It's Dajh!" The boy bounced on his feet. "I've been looking for you for a long time!"

A pale girl joined him. "Nice to meet you, mister Estheim. Don't forget the curfew at six, okay?"

Hope looked about them, but no one seemed to notice their conversation. "We didn't have a curfew-"

"You did." Dajh looked up at him with intent eyes and Hope made out distinct markings along the skin under his eyes and nose. "The God of Light still holds dominion and His rules don't change, do they?"

"I don't think-…" Hope forced himself to swallow despite a crawling in his skin. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, you do." Dajh nudged him in the shoulder and Hope stumbled back. "We'll never let you forget!"

"I need to sleep." Hope turned away. "Please leave me alone."

"We won't do that," said the girl, "but you should remember that it's not a question of can or can't!"

"Yeah. We were told you should remember that."

Hope blinked and did his best to ignore them as he made his way toward his bed. They didn't follow, though that didn't reassure him like it should.

"It's not a question of can or can't," whispered the voice. Hope dropped his satchel by his bed and kicked off his torn shoes before he sunk into the worn mattress, heart pounding. This blanket was worn to the point of being barely a sheet, but he didn't notice most of the time.

Hope looked to the walls of the orphanage, where he could swear a pair of eyes peeked through the cracks. Like the eyes of those kids.

"There's some things," continued the voice, "that you just do. What does it mean?"

He shook his head, fingers ghosting over the coins in his pocket leftover after paying the Matron. The phrase was one the voice repeated every now and again. Hope thought he heard it somewhere before, but he wasn't any closer to placing it now than he was five years ago.

"You don't agree," hummed the voice. Hope wished not for the first time that he could block it out. Replying out loud tended to be easier for communicating with it than thinking, but that attracted attention.

Tried to think of other things, but the voice yanked control of his mind right back.

"What is lightning? Why does it remind us of roses?"

He didn't know. He closed his eyes to block out the stifling sight of the orphanage and dancing flames took its place before fading away to nothingness.

"And battle. _Don't shun the darkness._ "

Hope pulled the covers up farther. Shoved away the temptation to heal himself, though he didn't have much mana left after his jobs anyway.

"We know that one, too, but it's incomplete. What's the second part?"

The voice continued to prattle in confusion. His eyes felt like lead and his limbs ached from running all over the city. He could swear he'd been from one end to the other at least a dozen times. The soles of his feet burned with an intensity he hadn't known since he was an urchin unfound by the government.

Sleep proved difficult to find, as usual, but Hope learned through years of practice how to feign rest when there were still ambling bodies around. He couldn't help the feeling of being watched though, and he worried that he wasn't convincing them this time around.

With cracked eyelids, he saw the edge of a ticking clock.

"An open field," whispered the voice, speaking nonsense as it tended to do around this hour. "Shower of petals, flash of pink hair…"

It almost felt like a lullaby. Hope heard it so many times just before losing consciousness, he associated it with sleep though the exact words changed every night.

"Growing shorter, the objects around you get bigger. Memory growing sluggish…"

Hope shifted and adjusted his breathing. The Matron started her rounds and he heard several sets of footsteps scurry to get into bed.

"Creation of life, subduing and controlling life, nurturing them into a better form."

He curled up against the sheets and refrained from covering his ears. Lullaby though it was, the words left a sense of defeat deep inside him. His heart slowed and chest ached. The chill seeped in through his blanket.

"Distant chorus, soft voices chanting your requiem. Sings the Savior of emotions forgotten and of a love divine. What know you the dark when you're bathed in the purest light? May the cosmos sing you to sleep while worlds develop on the edge of creation."

Amid the voice's incessant rambling, he heard an underlying tone that came as a distant echo, "Crystal-chosen, crystal-bound. With this, your power newfound, find the souls whose fates have unwound. and makers astound, the unfallen."

The fibers of his blanket rubbed against his skin as course as twine. His hand warmed with a cure that he allowed to travel through his system. It came as no small relief.

"Held aloft, the view of eternity in your eyes. What has this puppet given up to taste freedom as sweet as an overripe fruit? What will we not give up to see the light again? What will we give not to?"

With those words in his ears, Hope drifted. He forgot the pain of day and gave in to sleep.

* * *

Larsa settled into his seat among the senate, scepter leaned beside him. The opening formalities went underway and he took the time to remind himself of the varying stances from the senators. Most welcomed his involvement and direct communication, but some saw it as needless supervision.

"Now in session," Carid finally said, sitting down. "First order of business: Queen Ashelia will meet with His Majesty regarding the traffic between Archades and Rabanastre in the coming days. Thus, we can finally speak on the highway proposed to be built between cities."

"How is this a necessary development?" asked one. "Would we not benefit more from a different expenditure?"

Responded Fyln, "A question that is posed before the proposal so much as reaches our ears. Must we go over this every time?"

"How can we expect the support of the Judge Magisters on such a vast use of resources? I doubt they'll see the point in making raising a road which we have already."

Larsa steeled himself, then said, "We have the road, yes, but it's fraught with bandits and wilderness and stretches for miles without sight of relief for new travelers. We'll send in the proposal for revision as a dedicated road would consume more than we can afford to pay now. But I would suggest applying for waypoints and sanctuaries for travelers."

One Ilaro clucked his tongue. "So says our great emperor. What use have we when such an authority is present?"

"The idea is sound," said Fyln. "Let's not bring up such sensitive topics until we make our run of the issues present."

Carid moved on. "We should address the weekly raids on the Archadian border."

"Do we know the instigators?" asked one senator.

"A band of pirates. Their pattern involves attacking border villages and leaving them nigh to barren. The people have requested the help of the guards or judges."

Ilaro waved a hand. "Bah. They have their patrol already. The pirates will stop if the villagers showed some resistance, I'm sure."

Larsa turned his way. "You suggest we ignore their plea?"

"I'm suggesting we don't pander to every inconvenience that arises on the border. We cannot allow our army to be indisposed for that long and for such unimportant matters."

Larsa's mouth twitched. "You call the lives of our people 'unimportant?'"

"If you were paying attention, Majesty, you would know that no lives were lost. Only supplies."

"Supplies that could mean the difference between life and death for the people. We should dispatch a squad of soldiers to help." Larsa cast a look to Ilaro. "That way we won't lose our army but the villagers will rest assured."

"Of course, Majesty."

Larsa didn't miss the hostile look Ilaro sent his way, nor the smug quirk of another's lips. One senator gave an exaggerated huff and fell back into his seat.

Carid continued. "What of the issue of taxes? We've discussed a slight increase to accommodate the expenses endured for the sake of improving Old Archades. Might we decide on a final vote?"

"Old Archades is full of rats," said Ilaro. "Its purpose is to house those that can't afford the living conditions of the inner city. If we renovate the alleys, it'll only chase the rats out further for the increased prices."

Larsa hesitated. A fair point. "Yet the prosperity of late has increased the flow of immigrants to the city and space grows in price. If we expand, then our economy benefits from motivated travelers."

Presented Fyln, "Should that not be left to the private businesses that take the risk of building where they might see a profit? Sorry to impose, Majesty, but perhaps it isn't a legislative matter to seek more ground."

"If not legislative," asked another, "then who's to say it'll ever happen? We oversee the upkeep of the finest sections of our city and I doubt Tsenoble would have risen in finery as it has without our interference."

Larsa lifted his chin. "Perhaps this is a matter for another time, then."

Some murmurs rippled through the party before most gave their reluctant agreement.

"Majesty." Fyln came to Larsa's side and leaned in. "If I could speak with you on the upcoming fete."

"You may." Larsa gestured to Carid, who addressed the senate with the issue of their emperor departing

Larsa took his scepter, turned, and left with Fyln, who hurried to keep up. "Have many have confirmed their attendance?"

Fyln nodded hastily and pulled out a paper. "Most of the list. Among others, Lord Maechen and Queen Ashelia have sworn to come. It appears you've made friends in them, Majesty. Their letters sounded quite fond."

"I look forward to seeing them. What of Rozarria?"

"Al-Cid has yet to respond, but what have we to gain from a man such as him?"

Larsa stilled himself to hide his surprise. "Not much for the empire, but for my own security."

"… I see."

"He wouldn't leave such an invitation ignored this long." Larsa paused in their walk and looked Fyln hard in the eye. "So, he has made the journey already. Where is he now?"

Fyln licked his lips and looked both ways before whispering, "Your office on the hundredth floor, Majesty."

Larsa dismissed the senator and made his way to his lesser-known meeting room.

After the long walk, he eventually opened his door to find the well-dressed silhouette of his friend hiding in the corner with a green-haired girl in the typical attire of one of his escorts. No one expected Larsa to use this office today, so the curtains were drawn closed.

"What warrants such discretion?" Larsa asked.

Al-Cid pulled himself to his full height. "Why should the secrecy make a difference, old friend?"

Larsa held his scepter steady and looked up at Al-Cid with his sternest expression. "One does not hide in the darkest corner of my palace without warning if he didn't have ulterior motives."

"Doesn't he?" Al-Cid reached out a hand, but Larsa caught it before he touched his hair. "Oh, fine."

Larsa huffed when Al-Cid pulled free and gestured for his friend to come over. The woman had mysterious features, notable even in the dim light, and she smelled of mist about her like the Viera.

"I found quite an intriguing beauty here." Al-Cid placed an arm around her shoulders. "Tempted as I am to join her on a trip through the cosmos, I suspected you might want to consider her offer."

The girl shook her head. "It isn't what you would imagine."

"She likes to pretend, this one." Al-Cid touched the girl's face and though she didn't cringe away, she also didn't lean into it. "I would like to know her secrets."

"They're not secrets." The girl looked up at him with teasing eyes. "I just know certain paths through certain places."

"Ah, but you won't tell me the truth. Perhaps one day you'll grant me such a luxury?"

"It would be much easier if you came with me."

"Alas, but I am bound to an unappeasable throne. What think you, Imperial Majesty? I know you suffer under the protection of your guard."

Larsa blinked. The sight of the two, so lax with each other, made him yearn for the old comfort of Vaan and Penelo's traveling company. "You speak of cosmic travel?"

The lady gave him a sly grin. "I do. Do you believe me?"

"I do." Larsa thought of Seven's stories. "But… I have duties."

"There's a certain beauty to this." Al-Cid released the lady and moved to the windows to let in some light. "She speaks of moving through the stream of time as well and you could return before anyone noticed you were missing. Quite a miracle, I think, given what you've said of your bodyguards in the past."

Larsa flushed. "Gabranth is wise to be so vigilant."

"Yet you remain unsatisfied." Al-Cid turned back to face him. "Alas. You know better than I how well you manage without some fresh air."

"I'm the emperor. I have responsibilities."

"Who am I to argue?" Al-Cid shook his head. "Rydia, I fear I may have wasted your time in coming."

"Wait." Larsa couldn't help a step forward and almost tripped on his hems. "I wouldn't offend – I sincerely appreciate your offer and I could never express my disappointment that I can't accept."

Al-Cid sighed and came his way again. "Be honest, Larsa. You do not need escape?"

"I do." Larsa swallowed his shame. "But the escape I need is no farther than the borders of my own city."

"Bound as birds in our gilded cages, are we." Al-Cid put a hand to his head. "I'll have to find you someone else, my lady."

Rydia tossed her hair. "It's not urgent. Yours is a lovely planet and I'd appreciate the chance to peruse the sights available."

"And peruse them you shall." Al-Cid looked to Larsa. "I plan to remain here in Archades until the fete. Should you need to call for me, your senator knows where to find me. I've worked out, shall we say, an arrangement with him despite the scoundrel's habit of bribing his fellows."

Larsa's mouth went dry. He wanted to take it back, but he knew better. "Thank you. And it's been a pleasure meeting you, Rydia."

"Likewise." She cast him an odd look before departing with Al-Cid.

Larsa was left standing in the dark. What did he just turn down?


	3. Chapter 3

Work went slowly today. Hope blinked against the morning sun that broke over the towering buildings of Archades, whose merchants provided minimal work for Hope. Usually he found mornings to be the most lucrative, as people appreciated help getting errands run before traffic worsened at noon. Evenings at least provided some wanted white magic for mending or for more recreational purposes at the dens.

Today, however, he only found an old granny that wanted him to sweep out her home on the outskirts of town. She gave him ten gil for it. Unless his memory of other jobs he did somehow slipped out like it tended to do. Except he should have a lot more money if that was the case.

Hope frowned and shifted through the coins in his pocket. It wasn't enough to get into the hospital, but he hoped that he would only need another thousand or so. At least, he hoped so.

Walking across the brick walkway that led across town, Hope noticed a white-haired and dark-skinned man looking around the place with an intense expression. He wore a strange, green robe with ribbons running down the sides, though the fabric was worn and dirtied from what must have been extensive travel.

His dark eyes struck Hope as familiar, but he knew better than to dwell on it so he moved on. Returned to wandering the streets, though not without some strange whimpering from the voice.

"Bad," it whispered. "Stay away from him."

Hope glanced behind him, but the man didn't follow. The air warmed the further he retreated, and he heard the distant rushing of water. "Smoke and mirrors?"

"He's still close." Heartrate picked up. "He's always close."

"Who?"

He cut off when he collided with someone else and crashed to the ground.

"Ah," groaned the other person, a boy about his age with dark hair and high noble's attire. "My sincerest apologies – I was distracted."

Hope blinked stars out of his eyes and pulled himself back to his feet. "Ow – should pay more attention."

The other boy smiled despite a fresh cut on his face. "Lamont." He extended a gloved hand and Hope frowned before he extended his own, dirty and wrapped in cheap cloth.

"Hope."

"I've heard that name before. Where are you from?"

Hope looked around them. "I've never been anywhere but here. You?"

"I've seen a few places-" Lamont straightened his dress shirt- "but Archades will always be my home."

"Your shoes…" Hope pointed to the scraping they sustained. "I hope that wasn't expensive."

Lamont made a pained expression at the sight. "My escort will be angry, but my tailor will be compensated for another pair…. What is it?"

Hope remembered to relax his expression. "You're… not mad?"

"No."

"But you have a tailor."

"And he's quite a nice man, but he doesn't much appreciate his work being damaged. But then, I shan't imagine there are many that do."

Hope reminded himself to breath. "But you're not… it's not an inconvenience?"

"I shouldn't worry about it." Lamont gave a stunning smile and gestured down one street. "Would you have lunch with me?"

"He's luring you in," hissed the voice.

Hope swallowed and tried to think of something to counter him with, but nothing came to mind. All he did doing the last week was completing odd jobs when he could find them and he didn't know that he would run across any more for the day and he _was_ hungry, but-

"If you have no money, I can provide." Lamont started walking.

"Uh." Hope scrambled for something to say. "Sure." He wanted to smack himself the moment it left his mouth.

"Marvelous." Lamont moved toward the trade sect and Hope scrambled to catch up. "I've found myself craving the bread they make by the river."

Hope's tongue turned to lead, and blood rushed from his head. "What have you done?" asked the voice. "What's happening?

"I can't say how long it's been," Lamont said as they passed wealthy shops and noble houses, "since I last went somewhere with a friend for the sake of something other than that of the political situation between Archades and Rabanastre."

Hope stuffed his hands in his pockets and put his head down. He generally tried to avoid this area, since the people didn't take well to having someone not of their stature wandering their streets. He rubbed at his stomach, remembering one incident that went particularly wrong and kept him away for good.

"I understand the importance of the alliance," Lamont continued, "though it can be tiresome to handle."

Hope had no idea what he was talking about, but he nodded with pretend understanding. Lamont paused speaking for a moment to look about them before gesturing east. "I believe it was further this way."

Hope's fingers shook and he darted glances about the well-dressed ladies and gentleman that passed them by with confused expressions.

A man cut Lamont off by grabbing his arm.

And shoving a blade into his back.

And through the front.

Lamont made no noise as the man abandoned the sword and snatched Lamont's satchel.

Then disappeared into the crowd. Hope recognized the green coat and white hair.

Someone screamed nearby, prompting commotion to swell around him. Lamont made a gurgling sound and dragged a hand to the wound.

He reached for where his bag was before gritting his teeth and looking at Hope with twitching eyes.

"Potions?" Lamont asked through his teeth.

Hope moved without thinking. Reached into his own satchel only to find the coins he'd earned. He paused when he remembered he didn't have any.

And channeled Mist.

"Down." Hope had to pull Lamont to his knees before he cast. "Someone help!"

Blood seeped into Lamont's clothes and his face turned white. Hope gripped the hilt of the sword, heart hammering in his chest as Lamont's eyes glazed over in shock. The other boy gasped for breath and Hope realized the blade must have punctured a lung.

He was suffocating.

Hope took one deep breath.

And yanked the sword out before sending it clattering to the side before he unleashed the cure. Voices clamored around him and a crowd gathered.

Blood pooled below Lamont and he looked about him with frenzied eyes. Hope stopped the bleeding through mending the vessels and veins before looking for breaks in the spine or ribs. Inflammation in the cords and…

That slit in the lung.

Hope focused there next. Lamont's face discolored from lack of air.

 _Seal it, seal it, seal it-_

He felt the tiniest _snap_ and Lamont sucked in a deep breath. Hope closed his eyes with relief before refocusing on possible damages to the spine.

"What are you doing to him?" snapped some lady.

"Fixing him, looks like," quipped another.

"Who did this?"

Hope grit his teeth and shut out the voices. Brought down the inflammation, repaired the nicks and inner bruising…

And ran dry.

Hope fell back with a gasp and blinked bleary eyes. He pushed it too far.

Lamont breathed, shallow and uneven, but forced himself into a sitting position and looked to Hope. "You're a white mage?"

Hope squinted his eyes against the blinding sun and pressed a hand to his temples. "Yeah, kinda. Magic should hold, but it'll take a while for your body to adjust to the damage."

"Yes." Lamont rubbed at his side. "A day or two, at least."

Hope hefted himself to his feet. "How – you've done this before?"

"Something like it." Lamont joined him, though not without a grimace. "I should ask how you know to heal stab wounds."

"It's a long story."

Lamont gestured down a turn. "You can tell me on the way back."

Commotion swelled about them. One woman tried to hold Lamont back while some men complained about the blood left behind in the street. Heat rose in his face and he remembered his place – ducked his head to avoid eye contact.

Lamont did his best to set them at ease before guiding Hope away and generating more blue light of white magic that illuminated his broken vest tunic. He kept his posture rigid, but Hope saw the telling twitch in his eye that accompanied healing pains.

"I was hoping to stay away a little longer today," Lamont said. "But I suppose there's no way around it."

"You don't want to go back?"

He shook his head. "Not ideally. But there's not much dignity in wandering about in such a state, is there?"

Hope forced himself to shake his head, even though he was used to wandering that same state when the occasion called for it.

"Very well." Lamont approached a nearby vendor. "Pardon me, but where might I find a imperial transports?"

"Imperial?" repeated the vendor, a squat man with rows of pins and trinkets at his booth. "I suppose if you have the passage, most of them lay sequestered near Nilbasse. Go west until you find a guard and he should tell you."

"My thanks." Lamont bowed and turned to Hope. "Follow me, then. This might take a bit."

When they found the transport, Lamont did indeed present an identification of some kind that got the guard huffing and exclaiming like someone threatened his life before letting them on a car. Hope entered with some caution, though Lamont acted as comfortable as if it were his own. The machine jumped to life and they took off in seconds. "Aren't there other passengers for this?" Hope asked. "Why didn't we wait for them?"

Lamont leaned back against the seat and squeezed his eyes shut. "I asked them to prioritize arrival at the palace, which wouldn't work for other passengers anyway. Most don't go so far."

"The _palace_?" Hope repeated as they flew over the city. He avoided looking out the window, as it made his stomach churn to be so high. "You live in the _palace_?"

Lamont nodded stiffly. Hope looked at the place where the wound was, regretting his outburst. He should have tried harder to clean out the area first. "What kind of pain is it?"

Lamont opened one eye to look at him, face sheening with sweat. "Sharp, as is normal for a cut like this. Worry not – I'll be better within a few days."

"Have you been stabbed before?"

"Ahem." Lamont looked genuinely uncomfortable at that. "Yes. Once or twice."

When the car touched down in a large, ornate garage, Lamont led Hope out the other side of the car and into a nearby hall. The floor of the garage was vast, but the car was close enough to an exit that it took moments to reach it.

Hope glanced behind them to see the rest of Archades. "Is this the palace?"

"Not quite." Lamont followed the hall out into another large room full of officers. Lamont only had to pull out his identification again and keep Hope close and no one gave a second thought.

"Looks like we've been had," whispered the voice. "He's manipulated all these people into thinking he's a noble, it seems."

Hope struggled to keep his breathing level as they moved deeper into the building.

"Now we enter the palace." Lamont swiped his card against a padlock. It chimed green and let them in. "It may not look the part, but we don't much use the grand doors anymore."

The halls they passed through here, though well-lit, carried little ornamentation outside of a certain elegance to the trim of carven wood and delicate designs. The colors were deep purples and browns, and doors filled the walls.

"Are we…?"

"Underneath, yes." Lamont walked confidently, head held high and back straight. Hope struggled to keep himself upright as they moved though, ready for the moment when someone would inevitably walk in and declare them intruders.

Maybe the imperial prison would keep him warm through the winter.

They took an elevator like the one Hope used in the recruiter's office, and that propelled them up to level five. Lamont didn't say why he went for that floor.

"You live here," Hope said.

"Yes."

"On the fifth floor?"

Lamont shook his head. "No. But that's where I can find Gabranth and sue for your position in the healing wing."

"Wait, what?"

The elevator dinged, and the doors hissed open to reveal an open floor with a large desk in the center and two sets of stairs flanking it from behind. Hope held a breath as Lamont strode right up to one of the receptionists and set his card on the desk.

"I need to speak with Gabranth," he said, causing the receptionist – a pretty girl with honey-colored hair – to leap to her feet and almost knock her chair over.

"Your Majesty!"

"Not so loud, if you would."

Hope lost feeling in his fingers as realization dawned. Guards swarmed them, with one _judge magister_ sweeping in with a billowing cloak.

Lamont responded to that one first. "I'm sorry, Gabranth. I needed some air."

"You have air on your balcony," said the judge with a deep and muffled voice before turning his attention to Hope. "Another one, Majesty?"

"Wait." Lamont held up a hand and the people all stilled as one. Even the judge bowed his head. "This one saved my life. Were it not for him, I would not draw breath and I cannot abide with ignoring such generosity."

The world tilted to Hope's view.

"I want him positioned on my personal healing staff. Give him the best training and treatment we have and prepare him to transfer by the end of the month."

No one spoke.

"Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly clear, Majesty."

Hope wobbled on his feet, one hand finding Lamont's shoulder. Earned a concerned glance. "Are you quite alright?"

Hope only managed to shake his head before the world flipped on its side.

"Bring him home for me, Judge Magister."


	4. Chapter 4

When Hope woke again, he found himself in a mess of blankets and pillows and the dim light of early morning.

Blankets. Pillows. Plural. And he slept through the entire night.

He bolted into a sitting position, hands gripping the plush surface of a plump mattress while he took in the red- and gold-colored drapes and paint and cherry furniture that greeted him. It looked like the kind of place a king would sleep in.

A dull pain burst to life in his ankle. When did he sprain his ankle? And when did he dress in such flimsy robes?

Never mind that – he learned to deal with spotty memories a long time ago.

The voice rattled, "What hath our impatience wrought."

"It wasn't impatience," Hope muttered, looking around the room again. It smelled like flowers and incense.

Climbing out from the luxuriously fluffy blankets and pillows, Hope ambled over to his bag, noting that he still had his old clothes. His knife was missing, but that was to be expected. What he didn't expect was that his coins were not only still there, but they had somehow doubled in number. Was this a dream? Had he actually died? He assumed that, if there was an afterlife, he wouldn't be able to feel pain in it. This had to be real.

Hope slung the bag over his shoulder through force of habit, but he hesitated in leaving the room. It was the middle of the day, there would probably be a hundred witnesses to see him leave if he walked through the door.

A rap at the door startled him from his reverie.

"You wished to be woken?" asked a male servant upon entering the room.

"Yes?"

"Very good. His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor Larsa Ferrinas Solidor, will be down shortly to speak with you. I suggest you dress and remember your manners."

The servant left again, and Hope found himself alone with the darkness of the early morning. Through the windows, he could make out the lightest hints of blue in the horizon, which gave him sufficient time to get up and try to sort out his unruly hair.

 _Larsa_ , the servant had said. Not Lamont. Larsa Ferrinas _Solidor_.

"Where did my life go so wrong?"

The voice rasped, "We already established this."

He dropped his bag and found a stack of clothes on the table, folded neatly and accompanied by some accessories like belts and pins. Hope wasn't sure how all that was supposed to go on, but he figured it would be better to wear it wrong than to speak with the emperor in sleeping clothes.

After what felt like ages of struggling with the strange outfit, a knock sounded at the door and Lamont promptly strode in with the judge Gabranth at his side and wearing a flowing, purple robe embedded with ornate trim and layers of finery. He carried with him a large staff bearing the sigil of the Solidor house.

Hope had only gotten the shirt, overtunic, and trousers on, but he hoped it was suitable enough without all the additives.

"I apologize," Lamont – no, _Larsa_ said. "Gabranth wouldn't allow me to see you quietly."

Hope fidgeted under the judge's invisible gaze. "Am I a threat?"

"Not yet."

"I will escort you," Gabranth droned, "to your new training facility."

Larsa offered Hope a warm smile. "It's inside the palace, not far from here, though I have been told it's easy to lose track in such a large place. Thus I've provided a guide."

"You've taken in others before?"

"More often than Gabranth would like. Were I able, I would give homes to all those struggling to make their way in the city. But our resources don't allow for that, I'm afraid, and I won't take the money of hardworking citizens for my own charities."

Gabranth remained stoic at the mention and Hope found himself agreeing with his discomfort.

"Regrettably," Larsa said, "I have matters to attend to. But Gabranth will provide you with sufficient guidance to make correct your uniform, introduce you to our healers, and to continue from there. I shall take to my office as well, perchance you wish to see me."

"Thanks," Hope managed to say before Larsa nodded to Gabranth and left the room.

He cringed at the idea of being left alone with the large frame of a man, covered in dark armor and still as death.

"So," Hope said, trying to cover his haphazard covering with his two arms. "How's this going to go?"

Gabranth looked him up and down. "Put on your jacket over the belt. That will suffice."

Hope nodded and did as told before following Gabranth out the door, though not without a glance to those bookshelves he didn't get a chance to look at.

The clothes they gave him were mostly white in color and composed of a tunic, undershirt, and some trousers with matching, golden trim. Hope wondered why they would have him wear white if he would only work around injuries and blood all day.

When he put it on, the uniform felt constrictive around his chest and throat, and there was so much fabric to it that he could swear he would overheat within moments. They'd offered no boots, either, so his tattered sandals were all he had to work in throughout the day despite standing out atrociously against the pristine nature of the uniform.

During most of the tedium that turned out to palace hospital work – it mostly consisted of treating minor cuts and bruises for those that slipped in the halls or cut their fingers on files – he felt a little out of place for his awkward footwear and small stature.

But left alone to a room full of medics wearing the same uniform, Hope may as well have everything on wrong from the way the others all looked at him with skepticism.

In such conditions, they must have had something terrible planned. They were trying to wear down Hope's defenses, make him feel comfortable so he wouldn't expect whatever actual, terrible fate they had in store for him.

One time, he couldn't help fidgeting with the bandages in his hands before he put them in their proper shelf.

"You know how to set a broken bone?" asked one girl that looked to be a couple of years older than him and with his same rank of insignia.

He licked his lips and answered, "With a splint. Use magic after the body is ready for it."

Some snickered. "That's elementary," said one older man. "What are you going to when a victim comes before you with lacerations near the brain? Or a sword near the heart?"

"White magic," Hope said. "Earthly items threaten to make it worse, whereas pure magic diverts the energy where necessary. The body knows better than the medic where to put its resources to use, in most cases. Bones simply need too much to efficiently healed without help."

"And if it's threatening infection?"

Hope pulled the bandage tight. "Clean surface areas. I wasn't a surgeon, so I can't go near the heart. If I'm near a facility, I take them in. Otherwise, I have to hope a curaga will be enough."

One of the women blinked. "You can cast curaga?"

He couldn't remember the instance when he did. "It's not an efficient cost of Mist most of the time, but in an emergency like infection near the heart, it would be enough to reject most foreign contaminants and hope for a path to recovery."

Some of the derision faded. "You _weren't_ a surgeon?" asked the older man. "You've been doing this for a while?"

"Yes," Hope said at the same time as the voice. "I did volunteer work and odd jobs in the streets. Minor stuff."

"How?" asked the girl. "Crime in Archades is minimal."

"Yes," Hope said, "but accidents still happen and not everyone wants to pay hospital rates. I didn't need certification because I wasn't healing major injuries. Small cuts and abrasions, that kind of stuff."

"That doesn't answer the question of where you learned all that," said an authoritative woman. "Minor cuts and abrasions won't teach you to deal with potentially fatal injuries."

"No." Hope rolled another bandage up and placed it back on the supply shelf, "but I don't need your background, either."

"That doesn't make you competent in the face of it," said the girl. "Knowledge and experience are two completely different things."

"That's what I'm here for – I'd rather not sit in the library for my whole stay."

"You won't be doing that," grumbled a younger man, "one way or the other. Apparently, our emperor's favor goes much farther than one might expect."

Some stood and left at that, their long uniforms rustling elegantly as they filed out. Hope watched them go with some trepidation, wondering what this meant for him. The rest of the group clearly wasn't friendly to the idea of him staying.

"People don't like to be shown up," rasped the voice, though Hope couldn't see how he was showing them up – he'd never even stepped into the operation rooms.

"You're not better yet," said the voice, "but you're further ahead than any of them were at your age. Only, they don't realize how much older you are than you look."

Hope chalked that up to the voice's nonsense. His shift was about to end, so he finished organizing and refreshing the supplies before heading out the main room. He almost forgot the discomfort of his outfit in the moment, but its oppressive nature served to make him further uncomfortable.

They wouldn't get him kicked out for the sake of spite, would they?

"It's not unlikely, but keep your eye out."

Hope swallowed and hurried on to his room.

All this time, he thought that he simply needed a place to work and he would fit in. He just needed to show how good he was at this and he would have a home with people he could call friends.

But he couldn't keep pretending that he slipped right in here like a fitted shoe. He couldn't keep pretending that he moved straight from the streets to the esteemed palace staff.

* * *

"There's been a disturbance on the border between us and Dalmasca's territory," Larsa told Balthier while the latter sat in a couch in Larsa's office. "Pirates raid the villages there and the people lose supplies every week. With winter coming, they need help to make it through the coming months."

"Why not send your own men?"

Larsa stood before the window and watched the dancing light of the sun as affected by a passing cloud. "The senate is less than lenient. I sent a squadron, but I doubt it should be enough."

"You'll enlist a brigand to do your dirty work? Not so different from your family, I see."

"It isn't my place to determine the traffic of sky pirates, but I can't help the border attacks without doing such. Not all are as reasonable as you."

"You miss the reason for one to become a pirate in the first place – we value our freedom and lack of authority."

"So I've seen." Larsa turned to face him, though Balthier lounged in the perfect image of comfort. "You don't worry for the people who would lose their livelihood?"

"Let's say that I worry more for my own livelihood."

Larsa paused. "I've overstepped my bounds. If I've offended you, I offer my sincerest apologies."

Balthier leaned forward and placed his arms over his knees. "I worry more for your own sensitivities, Majesty. You don't want an incident like this leading back to you."

Larsa picked up his scepter from where it leaned against the wall and took his seat at his desk. Let his eyes linger on some of the paperwork there. "I've made arrangements to prevent such."

"Really."

"I know how to protect myself."

"Do you?" Balthier stood and made his way over with that typical swagger of his. Leaned down to inspect and Larsa could make out the smallest nicks and scars in that otherwise-too-groomed face. The smell of old wood and sun-blasted sand greeted him. "Is that fatigue I see about your eyes?"

Larsa knew how to feign calm and assuredness in the face of scrutiny. "It's tiresome work I perform every day."

"Mm, no." Balthier leaned away again and Larsa remembered the aroma of the office's silver-lined flowers. "How long ago?"

Larsa felt a twitch in his lip and he knew he was exposed. "Not two days."

"How did you survive such a wound as would remain so obvious two days after?" Balthier shook his head. "Desperate as you must be for my help, I'm afraid I can't provide. But perhaps I can make other arrangements on account of your busy schedule. Some that are a touch less overt, you know."

"Thank you, Balthier. I know it is no small favor I ask."

He put his hands in the air and stepped away. "What choice do I have when the emperor himself requests it? The leading man is bound to do what's honorable, after all."

"I expect no less."

"Yes, your house has certainly demonstrated its expectations."

"Fran is well, then? I never imagined you two apart."

Balthier turned his head to the side. "She's looking into a delicate matter. If it turns out as it should, we might leave for a small while."

A knock sounded at the door and Larsa responded, "Enter."

Hope. And he wore the new, non-working clothes they'd lent him. It was a simple number, with green overtones and orange accents.

"How was the work?" Larsa asked. "Sufficient?"

"Yes," Hope said a little too quickly and with a wary glance toward Balthier, who raised his eyebrows at the sight. "It, uh, kept me busy."

"And the other medics?"

"They're fine, I guess."

"Is your room sufficient?"

"More than that." Hope shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't… take it from anyone, did I?"

Larsa paused, a ghost of pain echoing at the reminder. "My brother," he said at length. "One of them. It hasn't been used in years and I thought it should see such by this point."

Hope blinked at that. Larsa reminded himself that one of the streets wouldn't know what happened. Vaan and Penelo didn't.

"Bit of a sore spot, that one," Balthier said. "Best not to dwell on it, you know."

Hope nodded, but narrowed his eyes and pursed his lip in what Larsa took as confusion.

Another knock came, but required no response before Seven entered and drew up short at the sight of Hope.

"Your timing is well." Larsa drew himself to his full height and circled around the desk. "Some introductions are in order."

Hope moved to the side, stepping awkwardly in his new boots to make way. Larsa made himself to hope he would get used to them – otherwise it would prove difficult to find matching footwear.

"I'm Seven." The woman offered a hand to Hope. "We've met, but not formally."

"Hope." He accepted the gesture. "Do I know you?"

"I've been told I look a lot like your friend, Lightning."

Hope threw himself back, finger flying to point at her while one hand gripped his head. "You're-!" He stumbled and slammed against Larsa's desk, back-first. "No! Lightning!"

Larsa started and rushed to Hope's side only to get swatted away. "No!" Hope shrieked. "NO!"

"What is this?" Larsa demanded of Seven, who had the decency to look alarmed.

"I-…"

"It seems," Balthier said, coming over to stand by Hope, "that you've distressed our friend here. A trigger, perhaps? The result of some conditioning?"

Hope thrashed about and fell to his knees. Larsa readied a sleeping spell. "Did you mean for this?" Larsa demanded.

A flash of light erupted, causing them all to cover their eyes. Larsa stumbled away with a cry and lost his spell. Balthier and Seven both cursed in different dialects and Balthier danced away.

"No," Seven managed, her voice muffled. Larsa risked opening his eyes to find she had her face covered. "No one told me that would happen!"

Larsa readied another sleep spell and hurried to Hope's side before he let another one of those flashes loose.

"Sleep!" Larsa commanded, forcing the spell on Hope, who didn't react at first.

"Marvelous," Balthier groaned. "Can't see a wicked thing."

"The night is long," Larsa tried a little more gently, "the sun's rise is short and brilliant, but your day is over."

Hope cried out and curled in on himself. Larsa sucked in a breath before trying again. "The stars watch you," he whispered, casting another spell. "May they sing you to sleep and guide your dreams."

That finally elicited a reaction and Hope quieted down, body stilled. Larsa reached out to carry him before realizing that would be too heavy.

"Let me," Seven said.

"How am I to trust you?"

Balthier waved a hand. "Not to rush anyone…"

"I didn't mean to trigger him." Seven lifted Hope in her arms with a surprising gentleness. "I jogged his memory. There's a chance he's repressing, in which case it'll be harder to wake him than I expected."

"Repressing?" Larsa repeated.

Seven nodded as he followed her out the door. He heard Balthier mumbling something under his breath behind them. "Not everyone we collect is quick to come back, I guess."

"You won't force him into it, will you?"

She stopped just outside her room. "I can't answer that. Maybe. Depends on Queen's orders."

"He doesn't have to live in that place."

"Yeah." Seven set Hope on her bed and they left the room together. "But that's a kind of luxury that none of us can afford."

"I'm not unfamiliar with mad men, but I believe they can be saved."

"He isn't mad."

"It would be good to help all the same."

"Depends on how you do it."

Larsa looked toward the door. "Shall I post a guard?"

"Sure." Seven started back off down the hall. "Call me when he wakes up, will you?"

He hesitated. "Of course."

After she disappeared, Larsa looked back to the room before calling a guard through the system. Then he gently pulled the door open and reentered. Hope hadn't moved an inch in the time he'd left him, though his eyes darted to and from under the lid and his expression flickered uneasily.

Larsa closed the door behind him and found a chair in which he could sit until the guard came.

"Beg your pardon."

Larsa snapped his eyes up to find Balthier in the doorway. "My apologies. I allowed myself to be distracted."

"Yes." Balthier rested a hand on his waist while the other rubbed at his temples. "I could tell. Now, I don't wish to raise any fuss, but I still can barely see despite my magicks."

Larsa felt a spike of alarm. "You're blind?"

"A bit." Balthier gestured about them, motions sluggish. "But I've run out of mist."

"Of course." Larsa jumped to his feet and channeled a blindna to his palm. "My apologies. You must have been closer to him when it happened."

"I was." Balthier lifted his head when Larsa released the spell and Balthier sucked in the light. "No luck, I'm afraid. Shows what I get for agreeing to help royalty, I suppose."

Larsa frowned. "It's an unfortunate coincidence. But Hope is an exceptionally talented white mage for his age and might have a better chance at curing this."

Balthier rolled his head on his shoulders. "I'd prefer to avoid this boy from here on."

"I've known him for some days now and he's not done anything of this sort."

"A few days isn't enough to know someone. Does Basch know of your habit of picking up strays?"

Larsa bit his tongue at the mention.

Balthier blinked rapidly and looked around him. "Uh huh. It's a touch better now. I'll take another round once I've recharged and hope that makes the difference."

"If you would come by again, I'll have medics ready for you."

"Tempting, but I'm afraid a sky pirate's life isn't one for idle chatter and I can't say how else I would spend my time waiting."

Larsa sighed as the man walked off, his shoes echoing down the long corridors. He blinked spots out of his own vision and prepared another blindna just in case.


	5. Chapter 5

A distant, echoing scream forced Hope awake. His head felt stuffed with cotton and thrown against a hard surface too many times to count. He was surrounded by unfamiliar sheets and he felt the foreign texture of silk as a threat. The scent of summer flowers assaulted his nose and blinding sunlight crept through the cracks in the curtains.

The room was colored in peaches and creams, like those of a woman's spring gown, or a garden themed after a wedding. He wondered if he'd ever make it to a wedding.

The voice didn't wake with him, its distinct absence causing an emptiness in the pit of his stomach.

A glance to the corner showed him the silhouette of a monster towering over him with too many wings on its back and an inhuman shape to its face.

He yelped and scrambled backward until he fell off the other side of the bed and crashed to the ground in a heap of blanket and sheets.

"Wait," came a voice Hope thought he should know and yet shouldn't. "You're safe!"

He didn't look at the figure that rushed to his side – he focused on the spot where the monster was, the one that he _did_ know, that-

"Hope!" Larsa grabbed his face with silk-gloved hands and forced him to look his way. "You're safe!"

Hope's chest heaved with every breath and his face felt stuffy still. "You-… Who-?"

"You're in the palace. Among friends."

The assassin. Hope remembered his dark silhouette and his strange clothes. "Bhuni-"

" _No!_ " The voice roared to life within him. "Don't remember!"

The name, on the tip of his tongue. The one he could never remember. The one that was always watching him.

"Always," Hope rasped, throat closing up. "Can't say no."

Larsa's eyes narrowed and he mouthed silent words. "To what?"

"To _him_."

" _He doesn't exist_!" screamed the hoarse voice that phased into a younger, childlike tone. "I am the only one you know! You listen to _me_!"

"You're unwell."

Hope felt the clamminess of his hands, pressed against the ground as if to find reason and security in it. "Very."

"You haven't eaten. You should have some tea."

… Tea. Tea?

Hope squinted, the light from outside blinding him. "Don't… fear," he managed. Where did he know it from?

"Tea." Larsa stood. "I'll get you tea."

"Forget," hissed the voice. "Forget!"

"Forget what?" Hope managed, throat burning. "What happened?"

The door clicked closed and Hope pulled himself to a sitting position. Did Larsa not leave? He could swear there was…

In the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow.

"You're following me," Hope said.

"Yes." The man with the green coat, with dark skin and white hair. His voice reflected two inhabitants as he approached Hope.

"You arranged for all of this."

"Those years weren't wasted. If I must, I will repeat them."

"Not just years," Hope found himself replying. The voice spoke through him. " _Centuries_."

"It's not just one of them anymore. The Savior has become eight."

His skin crawled at the mention, faces flickering through his mind. The voice sobbed in resignation as strange memories came to him of events he didn't know, of a planet in the sky he belonged to while living on the world below. He remembered a floating city, miles above the ground that never disconnected from it.

The man stepped back into the shadows and Hope deliberately averted his gaze.

Larsa returned, missing his emperor's robes and carrying a wet cloth on a tray with a teapot and accompanying cups.

"Hey," Hope said, head feeling clearer than it had in a long time. "Sorry about that."

Larsa placed the tray on the small table by the bed. "Don't concern yourself with it. I promised I would help you, and I intend to keep my oath."

The voice felt… distant. It didn't say anything, but it also hadn't left completely. Hope felt its vague presence in the back of his mind still, and he could sense a vast blackness behind it. It protected him from his memories – the ones that it still could.

"I… don't belong here," Hope said. "I should leave this place."

Larsa shook his head and poured two cups of tea. "I'm the emperor and I choose who lives in my home. If I can let the Dalmascans take up residence without certain additional paperwork, then I can let a street child become my personal healer."

"That's kind of reckless, isn't it?"

A flustered frown touched Larsa's lips when he offered Hope a cup. "Perhaps. But I should like it all the same."

Hope took a sip and it tasted like mint leaves "I should probably learn how to act like nobility if that's the case."

"I can teach you."

"Don't you have other things to do?"

"Perhaps." Larsa took a thoughtful sip. "But my schedule is flexible, much to the chagrin of my councilmen. I might assign another, but-"

"No, it's fine. I'll let you call the shots."

"Would that it made no difference, but we work in such an environment and it matters if the people trust you. Most will dismiss one apparently raised from the streets."

Hope remained quiet and watched the rippling reflection of his cup showing his tousled hair and face cleaner than he'd seen it in years.

"I shall have a couple of friends over in the next week," Larsa said. "Perhaps you'll appreciate their company."

"That might be difficult."

"These are… not of noble blood. In fact, they're not unlike yourself."

"That'll be harder."

Larsa raised an eyebrow. "I should think you know better than anyone that not all the homeless are pickpockets or sadistic."

"No, but they also don't know certain manners."

"Like?"

Hope scowled. "Like not trying to kill you."

"I see."

"Hey, do you know why I passed out?"

Larsa blinked. "You don't remember?"

"Not exactly." He furrowed his brow. "I remember dreaming about…." Blood and roses. "… Tea. Flowers. Strange stuff. What caused the blackout?"

Hesitation. Larsa set his cup down. "One of my friends scared you. She said something, and you panicked. I had to sedate you and bring you here."

"That's it?"

"Yes."

Hope set his cup back down and pulled the blanket about himself. The motion felt familiar and he thought that maybe it was something he did as a child. Though he never knew a time when he had more than a ratty sheet to protect himself. He never knew a time when he could crawl into his parents' bed and listen to their stories while wind billowed outside, and rain pounded at the windows.

He never knew his parents.

Just like he never knew a "Lightning."

* * *

After one particularly difficult morning, Hope gave up measuring out Galbana essence and went to see the library. Went to ground himself in the reality of his world.

The voice was quiet as he moved through the palace, boots tapping lightly along. The halls echoed every sound back to him and rippled down the hall and out of earshot. He moved slowly, limbs weaker than they were yesterday.

Finding the library on its own proved to be a bit of an adventure, but Hope finally found it after scouring several floors.

Large double-doors guarded the way and opening them revealed a cavernous space filled to the vaulted ceiling with shelves on shelves of books and scrolls and maps. The entrance presented a desk with a handful of workers filing and recording while Hope wandered in and shut the doors behind him with a mild thud. The workers didn't look up to see him.

Hope cast a mesmerized look about him, motes of dust dancing in the rays of sun emitted by the mostly-covered windows. There was a strategic positioning to the shelves in the way they all faced artistically away from the light, the wood of the structures protecting their books from the sun.

No one reacted to him walking past, all too distracted by their work and tomes.

Hope was hit then with the overwhelming realization that he didn't know where to start. He could afford to take a couple, but how could he decide on only two?

He wandered down one row that detailed the histories and origins of the empire, with entire books dedicated to the judges, the senate, the Solidor name…

Ignored those and continued to the geography section. Walked past exploration reports and studies, glanced over research papers and educational materials meant for the young in school. Because people that came here had the resources to put their pampered children in the kinds of schools that would teach them about the layout of the land.

He moved forward and let himself forget that sting of jealousy and painful familiarity. Nostalgia and the sense of having something precious ripped from him.

Into black magic and other he went and found titles after the structure of teaching the arts of the arcane. Different elements and their domains passed him by in the form of bound leather and he paused by one titled after one of the greatest mages this world had to offer.

Picked it up and found intricate patterns burned into the leather cover. It titled itself after the four main elements fire, thunder, wind, and water. Inside the book laid colorful depictions of different spells and Hope couldn't help a gnawing curiosity at the sight of the words written in flowing, careful script. A warmth lit within him, a familiar and comforting presence of the arcane.

He made himself stop after reading through what must have been half the book and slipped it back into its place.

Walked past that and other intriguing titles until he chanced upon the white magic section. Here, Hope second-guessed himself. Stuffy titles and stuffier author names laid in wait here and he wondered how such formalities could allow the practical knowledge he needed to find. He didn't want studies, he wanted guides from people who knew what they were doing.

Eventually he settled on tome about healing techniks.

Satisfied, he moved on through the aisles and came to rest in the section on mythology and lore. Tales and stories passed on through old wives' tales and children's rhymes to last through the generations.

Here, there stood a large man with dark hair, a tanned complexion, and enough skin showing to reveal large muscles and intimidating tattoos. A girl in dark clothes and similar complexion hung near.

"Excuse me," Hope whispered and approached him. "Would you happen to know where I can find the medicinal section?"

"Medicinal," repeated the man in a rough accent and the deepest voice. "Do I look like I know where that is?"

"Well, no, but…"

The man slapped his book shut and Hope startled. "Over there, ki-… Wait. I know you."

Hope drew up short. "What?"

"Hope!" the girl said. "Where's Prompto?"

The man shoved the girl aside and _bolted_ for Hope.

Instincts took over and Hope ran. Their footsteps echoed through the library, heavy and frantic with those man's being so loud they thundered in Hope's ears and vibrated the wood below him.

The man was fast, but Hope ducked down the corridors formed by shelves and slipped between people to give himself the only advantage he could.

"Out of my way!" the man bellowed.

Hope's heart jumped to his throat and every breath threatened tears. His side hurt and his lungs burned but he kept moving because he had no idea what he did to get these people's attention and that man sounded ready for blood. Thirsty for it, even.

Soon the whole library mobilized at the chase and the room filled with curious murmurs and irate shouts. Some shrieked at Hope barreling past them and others made to grab him but this wasn't the first time he ran like this and most here were nobles that only had to move to pick up lunch or clothes or take leisurely strolls.

Eventually he burst through the doors and bolted down the hallway to find his room. It was close enough to Larsa's that the guards should protect him.

Or so he hoped.

Out here, the man kept right on his tail so Hope flung a blinding spell that way before twisting through a connecting corridor and taking the stairs two at a time.

Hope bit back a sob of panic when rough hands grabbed his arm and his heart stopped and surely-

He looked back to see Gabranth, who looked down at him through the helmet and said nothing.

Hope stuttered, "J-Judge!"

"What are you running from?" Gabranth asked.

Hope glanced behind him and found no trace of his pursuer. Swallowed. "Someone in the library. They tried-… I think they wanted to kill me."

"Guards protect this place from every corner. Killers do not get in easily."

"I know, but-…" Every breath hurt his chest and rattled his lungs. "I think I still need to rest."

"… Clearly." Gabranth released him. "Do not leave your room until you're called for."

"Understood, Judge."

Gabranth's gaze lingered on him a moment longer before the man walked away and left Hope to find his room.

The moment Hope closed the door, he sunk against it until his knees touched his chin. His body ached, and his teeth chattered.

Time passed, though there was no dial to watch it. The panic died and breath came back to him.

The room turned bright and the sun broke through clouds to illuminate the room in glittering shards of lights of floated up like droplets of water after a blizzaga. Shards that shimmered like fresh ice, or crystallized sugar.

His stomach growled. Would they bring him food when they called for him?

Hope reached out and took one shard between his fingers. It didn't cut him despite its sharp edges and he put it to his tongue to taste. It reminded him of sweets he had as a child, when the bakery first opened and he took some of the failed starter batches because the baker wouldn't feed them to the populace.

It reminded him of berry candies and the promise that he wouldn't go hungry. Not until the gang of older kids kicked him out, at least.

He wondered if the baker ever thought about him.

Hope sucked on the candy and focused on that nostalgic taste until his heart finally calmed and he breathed easy again.

Eventually a man found him and gave a short bow. "Sir, His Imperial Majesty extends a summon to his personal office."

"Understood." Hope stood and stretched out the kinks in his legs. Made a mental note to avoid this place when he had a schedule to stick to like he had every other day of his life here.

Then got to making his way through the palace.

Larsa's office was getting easier to find, though it still laid above an elevator ride and three additional flights up the palace's circling staircase. Paintings and murals passed him by, depicting historical events and classic moments in literature that Hope had never read but heard of in conversation on a weekly basis. The palace was bathed in the light of midday and its endless pathways provided the reflected light of the sun to see in their depths.

When he found Larsa's office, it once again succeeded in astounding him. He was slowly getting used to it, but the towering glass walls and staggering banners draped from the cavernous ceiling never failed to inspire a sense of awe.

Larsa, as usual, was sorting through and responding to papers on his desk. When he wasn't doing that, Hope knew him to be meeting with the senate or the judges or what other advisors he had.

It wasn't just Larsa inside, but two others that appeared to be older than Hope by a few years – a boy and a girl wearing garishly inappropriate outfits. The girl exposed her waist and painted and tattooed shoulders, while her hair had been tied into girlish braids on both side of her head. The boy was like Balthier, but with baggier clothes. They both perked up at his entrance but said nothing at first.

Hope cleared his throat as he shut the door and remembered to bow this time. "Your Imperial Majesty. You called?"

"Yes." Larsa looked up from his papers. "How do you fare this week?"

"Well, Majesty."

"Just as well to call me 'Larsa,' Hope. We're the same age – no point in creating barriers where there are none."

"Larsa. I was reviewing in the magic section in the library when I thought of something that might help with your friend's blindness."

Larsa leaned over his desk and placed his chin atop laced fingers. "I'm afraid Balthier left shortly after your… incident a few days ago. I shan't imagine he'll be back for some time."

"Oh." Hope stood there for a moment, feeling stunned. "Okay."

"However." Larsa leaned back again just as Hope considered leaving. "He's made steady progress and I shouldn't worry after his health, frail though it may be with the influx of Mist. He made a comment regarding who your parents might be, but it could have been nonsense for the magic in his head."

"Okay."

"But I have some friends here."

"Sky pirates."

"Yup!" said the boy, grabbing the girl around the shoulders. She rolled her eyes at the motion but didn't resist him. "Vaan and Penelo, the Notorious!"

Hope exchanged a look with the beaming Larsa. "I've never heard of you. Have you killed anyone?"

"We avoid it," said Vaan. "But it's technically happened. So, Larsa says you may be up to a round of sparring?"

"What?" Hope's breath picked up at the thought. Even the voice rumbled at the thought. "But I've never-!"

"It would be appropriate," said Larsa, "that my personal healer learn to take care not only of himself, but of his charge. What good is white magic if one of us is killed?"

"You didn't tell him?" asked Penelo, taking a couple steps back and planting her hands on her hips. She took on a reprimanding tone. "Vaan, do you have any idea what courtesy even is?"

"It's my fault," said Larsa. "It appears I forgot to inform Hope what it usually means when you two visit."

"When _Vaan_ visits," Penelo corrected him. "I can take care of myself, but personally don't get any joy out of beating on other people."

"It's not _beating_ ," Vaan whined. "Larsa wins almost every time!"

"He's won half the time, yes, but I don't think you should drag other kids into it. Look at him! He can't be more than thirteen!"

"Fourteen," Hope said.

"Fourteen!" Penelo looked between them. "Oh. About your age, Larsa."

"Quite close," said the emperor. "Mere months apart, it seems."

"I can fight," Hope said, feeling heat rise in his face.

"Great!" Vaan clapped his hands together. "So, we've got a party!"

Larsa, who Hope only just then realized wasn't wearing his usual robes but instead something like what Hope found him wearing in the streets, gestured toward the door. "We shall need coordination of numbers," he said, "as each of us against each other may make for a rather unwieldy setup at first."

"Fair point," Vaan said. "Let's decide that on the way."

"You and Larsa start off together," Penelo said as they left the office and moved down the hall. "Show Hope how it's done, and then either you or Larsa challenge him. Take it easy, of course."

"I can't take it _too_ easy," Vaan said, "or we lose the point of the match!"

"Just the first time! I'll stop you if it goes too far."

"Why not use Gabranth?" Hope asked. "He seems like a good fighter."

"He's not much of one for training," said Larsa. "He has more important duties to attend to."

"Says the emperor."

"We've explained this."

"Remember," Vaan said as they entered a large, open room. "No magic, and no sharp objects. Outside of your wit, of course." He snickered to himself.

A small weapon rack sat at one end of the room, between one of the windows that dominated the wall and lent a marvelous view of the west sect of Archades. A training mat ran from one end of the room to the other, cut to within a large margin of the wall, leaving plenty of space for onlookers to wander about the room.

"This," Hope said, "isn't something I expected to see in here."

Larsa took a thin blade from the rack as well as a blunt weapon the size of his fist. "All members of the royal family are taught to fence as if to protect their lives. Were it not so, I wouldn't be here today."

"Thanks to that," Vaan said, "and to us, of course."

Penelo nudged Vaan, but didn't help a small smile. It made Hope feel a little out of place, missing the in jokes. "You traveled together, too?"

"Oh, yeah," Vaan said. "To the ends of Ivalice and back."

Hope wondered what it would be like to see the forests and mountains of the other regions. "That sounds amazing."

"Well," Vaan said, pulling a sizeable sword from the rack. Both blades were marked with colored strips where their sharp ends should have been. "Let's do this."

Larsa lowered his head half an inch, expression determined.

"Begin," Penelo said, taking a step back from the mat.

Vaan launched in immediately, swinging at Larsa from the side only for the emperor to step nimbly out of the way and thrust toward Vaan.

They reacted with such precision and finesse that Hope thought it must have been rehearsed. "They've done this before," he said. "They don't have each other memorized or something?"

"That's not how it works," Penelo said. "They fight until one beats the other, and forces them to do better. Their styles and habits are supposed to change faster than the other can keep up. But honestly, Vaan hates training without a partner, so he hasn't been good at the whole improving thing."

"Ha!" Vaan said as the tip of his sword touched Larsa near the heart. "That one's on you!"

Penelo sighed. "As does Larsa, apparently."

"There you go!" Vaan said, tossing Larsa's rapier to Hope. "You can use one, can't you?"

Hope caught it, but only barely kept from poking his own eye out. "Uh…"

"Easy, Vaan!" Penelo reminded him. "He's still just a kid!"

Vaan grinned and Hope tentatively stepped up to the mat, passing Larsa who took deep breaths. "How do I use this?" Hope asked. "I've never touched one before."

"Never touched a rapier?" Vaan asked. "Or a sword?"

"A weapon."

"As I told you," Larsa said from the side.

Vaan groaned. "First, grip from the handle, below the guard. Yeah, there. Then stand real strong-like, so people can't push you over."

Hope furrowed his brow at the idea before spreading his legs apart and tensing the hand with the sword.

"Not _that_ wide. You're not a wrestler. No, right there. That's good."

"Straighten your back," Larsa said. "The rapier requires a sophisticated hold and proper posture. It isn't meant to be held by barbarians." Larsa flushed. "Apologies. That isn't what I meant."

Hope fidgeted. "This is surprisingly uncomfortable."

"It'll become natural to you." Vaan lowered himself into a slight crouch. "Just do that whenever and it'll feel normal after a while."

"Very astute," Penelo said.

Hope bit his lip, but kept his back straight and his legs separated. Vaan grinned, a concerning bloodlust showing in the crook of his mouth and that flash of teeth. Hope kept his breathing even, focusing on the in and out.

Penelo announced, "Begin!"

Vaan _threw_ himself forward and Hope yelped, jumping away from him.

"Don't forget your posture!" Penelo called.

He couldn't worry about _that_ right now!

Vaan didn't even raise his sword – Hope had enough trouble getting away.

"You can run forever," Larsa said calmly, "but you will go nowhere if you don't fight back."

Hope lifted his sword, but Vaan struck it out of the way.

"Yes!" Penelo cheered. "Do that!"

Vaan's grin widened and he parried Hope's next blow as well. The other man was clearly toying with him – how was he supposed to get any leeway here?

"Lay off, Vaan!" Penelo said. "Let him do something!"

Vaan rolled his eyes but took a few steps back. Hope relished the distance, only then realizing how fast his heart was beating. It felt like it might break through his ribs at any moment.

Hope took the chance to advance on Vaan this time, running forward with the point of his sword out. Vaan deflected him, but his motions were noticeably slower. He dragged his movements out as long as possible without letting Hope in.

"That's better!" Penelo said.

Hope stumbled around Vaan's offense, barely evading some of his attacks and getting hit by the rest.

"That's enough," Penelo announced after what felt like forever. Hope suspected it was closer to a few minutes. "Give him a break, Vaan."

He reluctantly stopped and let Hope get one last hit in. Vaan didn't seem phased by it.

Hope took a moment to catch his breath and Penelo took to the floor with Larsa. "You do this often?" he asked Vaan, who took a drink of water from the table.

"Sometimes." Vaan shrugged and watched Penelo engage with Larsa. "Only when we find the time to stop by and all. We'll need to get going again in a day or two, though. Gotta meet up with the new gang."

Hope frowned. "You can leave whenever you want."

"That's the way of the pirate, man."

He couldn't help a twinge of jealousy. The palace was nice and all, but he thought it appealing to just leave the city entirely. "Do you ever get tired of flying? Want to settle down?"

"Nah. That's why I took the skies, you know. Sitting around is boring."

Penelo and Larsa took a break. "Did you tell them about our friends?" she asked.

Larsa perked up. "Friends?"

"Yeah." Vaan stuck his hands behind his head. "Seifer's crew. They're helping us with some errands and we're giving them rides in exchange."

Hope felt a shift in his conscience before another presence joined him. Gabranth's voice – or one very much like it – whispered, "Take no heed of my visit. I am come to see the health of our emperor."

This voice must be new to the party, then. Hope knew to dismiss it when his mind talked to him. Something about it drew his attention to Larsa and he paid special attention to how the boy acted around Vaan and Penelo. Paid attention to the body language and hints at emotional stability.

Genuine smiles, hard breathing brought on by healthy exercise… Hope felt the other presence hum in satisfaction. "All appears well. Thank you for allowing me this visit."

And just like that, the presence vanished.


	6. Chapter 6

Hope hadn't heard the voice speak to him in days. He got used to the silence when he didn't prompt any answers, but when he spoke with others or himself, he felt disoriented not to get something back from the presence. He felt it there still, like a sulking animal. It didn't respond to him and it didn't show any signs that it even heard him.

He collapsed against his bed after the end of another long day. He kept working with the medics downstairs despite his "promotion," and they showed no intent to treat him like one of them.

That didn't bother him, though he knew it should. Normally the voice would speak to him and keep him company and help him to understand such things. But now it felt like he was left alone, abandoned like his parents had done at his birth. Every limb ached from his latest practice session and his body protested the idea of ever moving again.

But he liked the idea of protecting himself. And Larsa, maybe, but he got the feeling that Larsa could take care of himself in the event of an assassination or whatever it was that most threatened an emperor.

He rolled over in bed, muscles relishing the chance to rest. Perhaps he would finally sleep tonight and catch up on his lost rest from the last week. He couldn't even remember what he did that was so exhausting.

Blinked. And found himself in shadowed ruins.

The sensation of suddenly finding himself in another place wasn't unfamiliar to him, but he couldn't help a sense of foreboding as he stood from his chair. The ground beneath him remained solid, branches and bushes running over the table and chairs. The space around him still greatly resembled the room he was in, merely with leaves replacing the carpeting on the floor and drifting from the ceiling of tree branches that took the place of decorations.

Hope let his fingers linger over the desk before he stepped into the center of the room.

Soft snoring sounded from off to the side, prompting him to continue in that direction. Between the end of the floor and the beginning of the wall, he could make out a break in the wood.

Hope kneeled and glanced over the edge of the drop, head spinning. He'd never been a big fan of heights or darkness and, looking down, he couldn't see an ending to the strange gap.

Snoring to his right. Whispering below him.

Hope reached out only for something to pull him back and send him crashing onto his back.

 _Don't spurn the darkness._

Something stepped behind him.

 _You're a being of light, molded and claimed by the gods._

The air around him turned thick and Hope struggled to breathe. His lungs felt tight and his feet like lead. His hands fell limp at his sides and the voice remained silent, leaving Hope alone with this being of dread. "Who are you?"

He already knew the answer. Something about the presence bristled at his confusion. Why did he play dumb?

 _Greater things._ Claws ghosted over his skin. _Darkness taints._

Hope felt suddenly small and childlike. "As I should be." Drawing a shuddering breath, he pulled himself to his feet. "But… this isn't real."

"Am I not?" A man with dark skin and silvery hair appeared in the darkness. He wore a faded green robe, woven with exotic ribbon. "Feel me and witness for yourself."

Hope fought the desire to run. _Don't fear the light._

The man came closer, arms extended. "I'll forgive your betrayal." He still spoke with a double intonation. "But you must give yourself to me again. Turn away and I'll burn you."

Hope stiffened at his growing proximity, arms shaking at his sides. He felt frozen by the familiar overtones in the man's voice, overlaid as it was by the same voice that echoed in his head. "Don't."

"You still listen and that is good. But still also you resist – why?"

 _Don't spurn the darkness._ Hope shook his head. "I won't let you hurt my friends again."

The man's form shifted, a hint of pink hair and white uniform showing through him. Something about the sight caused an inexplicable swelling in his throat.

 _Don't fear the light._

Hope took a step forward, drawn to the stranger. Something about him felt... familiar. Terrible, but also good. "Do I know you?"

"Yes." The man took Hope's hand and gently pulled him closer. Skin crawled at the proximity, but he couldn't bring himself to pull away. "You belong to me."

Hope swallowed hard, eyes caught by the man. Protests died on his tongue, even though every fiber of his being screamed to run. "Why?"

 _Do not question me._

The man's breath was warm on his face, his proximity not at all reflecting any manner or habit he knew on Ivalice.

The man reached a hand out and Hope blurted, "Don't."

He forced his palm against Hope's face, blocking out his vision and clenching near his ears. Crushed his nose. "This world isn't yours." Yanked Hope closer. "Just as your will isn't yours to use. Your human memory is so fragile – I hate the despicable shortness of it."

Pain seized him, a sudden agony that overrode his senses and flared in every nerve. Hope cried out, legs buckling, but the man wouldn't let him drop. He held on, fingers digging into Hope's skin.

Hope whimpered and held back from trying to pry the man's grip from him. "You'll regret it," whispered the voice. He felt a deep gratitude for its return, though it sounded… different. Younger and clearer, not far from his own. "He doesn't take well to disobedience."

"You may not accept me now," said the man, "but destiny can only be refuted for so long. I expect for you to let me possess you soon."

Hope shivered, the commanding nature of this man resonating deep within him. So disturbingly familiar that obeying him felt natural. "No." His voice cracked. "Please. No." Gasped for air as the pain died again. "I – I understand."

Through the gaps in those hands, Hope saw the man's eyes were hard and empty of life. "Perhaps you will yet prove useful before I change." The man released him.

Hope fell to the ground and the cold flooded him. Felt as if he would never know warmth again save for the marks left on his face that burned where the man touched him.

"We'll meet again." That being ripped open the air around them and stepped through it.

And just like that, he was gone. Just like that, the voice left him again.

And just like that, the darkness vanished, leaving Hope alone to the confines of his room. His chest heaved with each breath, sweat trickled down his forehead, and violent shivers racked his frame. The room felt twenty degrees colder than before and the windows many shades dimmer.

"What-?" Hope started, before remembering again that he was alone and the room barren. Yet when he looked around him, he couldn't help the feeling that someone was still watching.

Always watching. And always listening.

 _Don't spurn the darkness._

 _Don't fear the light._

Left to himself, Hope silently wept.

* * *

Gabranth stood solemn and silent in the middle of the courtyard. Hope wasn't allowed to train with him regularly, as Gabranth's time was more valuable and needed in more varied situations than the other trainers that Larsa employed. Hope estimated that he only got to see this man once every other week, and their meetings only lasted about so many minutes.

Hope was going to make those minutes count.

Instead of asking any questions this time, Hope drew his sword immediately upon entering the courtyard and charged. The Judge dodged easily, sword left idle at his side. With a cry of frustration, Hope aimed for Gabranth's hand and got a cut across his cheek in return.

Hope stumbled to the side, gripping his face. It was shallow, but the stinging pain made his eyes water. Gabranth never said anything in the middle of a session. He only reacted to Hope's attacks. One of the servants said that he preferred to force his trainees to gain the simple experience of combat, to learn for themselves and force their mind to come up with their own solutions. Sometimes Hope wondered if the man was mute, given that none of the servants heard him speak.

He was like a ghost. He never took off his helmet in public, and he never spoke if possible. Larsa praised him for his words, and often spoke of his wisdom, yet Hope sometimes wondered if that was made up and Larsa felt the need to justify having such a strange bodyguard.

He had heard stories among the city's population of Gabranth. He heard that he wore his hair short, that he had a strong face. But all those stories came from before the war. What changed?

Hope eyed Gabranth, who remained still and patient. Had he been horribly scarred? Did it make him self-conscious? That couldn't be right because this was a judge. They cared for nothing that wasn't their job. They didn't give a whit what the people thought of them, so long as they obeyed the law. The judges were a terrifying force. A mutilated face would only help that reputation, especially now that Gabranth was one of the few magisters left.

Hope's hands itched to take mist from the air, but he refrained. Instead he continued to hold the yet-unfamiliar blade and memorize the feel of it in his hand. If he could only get close enough…

The black shadow that was Gabranth's eyes watched him. As far as Hope could tell, they could be closed or open and unblinking. Maybe they flitted about in boredom, ever waiting for Hope's somehow-predictable moves.

"What am I doing wrong?" Hope asked. He got no answer, of course. "How am I supposed to learn like this?"

Still silence.

Hope lunged.

Gabranth prepared for one side, so Hope took the other. His sword only ricocheted off the heavy Judge armor and Gabranth kicked him aside.

Ignoring the pain blossoming in his side from what would surely turn into a nasty bruise, Hope dropped his sword and rebounded at Gabranth.

Knocked aside again.

Hope groaned and pulled himself to his feet again, strength dissipating. Staggered toward the man again, only to be picked up by the collar of his robe. "Hey!"

"You are but a scrawny rat," said the man. "This is a thing to be changed."

Hope scowled and grabbed at Gabranth's helmet only to be dropped back to the ground. He was tempted to stay there in the courtyard's grass until he heard the clink of metal and looked up to see a large sword, its point mere inches from his face.

"You're reckless," Gabranth said simply, voice deep and even.

Hope didn't smile, but a strange sense of euphoria erupted within him. "I got you to speak."

"Your priority is no longer yourself."

"… If I die, the Emperor dies. Yeah, I know, but-"

"Hence why you need to learn to protect both. Throwing yourself at someone with such abandon will end this country sooner than it would take for you to be thrown in the dungeons for insubordination." Gabranth sheathed his sword. "You must work on your strategy and review your basics with Master Dret."

Hope heaved a sigh and forced himself back to his feet. "I know, but… Judge?" Gabranth looked his way. "Why don't you ever take that helmet off?"

"I remove it regularly. Just not where many would see."

"Why?"

"Curious boy. Perhaps you can spend your time that you would on these questions and rededicate them to study of swordsmanship. Else, you may find another weapon you like. But magic will only get you so far and you must learn to work in both close and far quarters."

"But… what if I never asked for this?"

Gabranth took a moment to respond. "You do not wish to serve His Majesty?"

"I didn't say that. But isn't it kind of unfair to expect all these things of me when I never signed up for bodyguard duty?"

"Yet you wish to continue as His Majesty's friend?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

Gabranth turned again to leave. "Then you'll keep up your studies. An emperor doesn't have time for idle companionship."

Hope stayed behind, thoughts sluggish. The tired ache in his muscles made it hard to think straight, but that couldn't be right. Even emperors needed to relax sometimes, right?

Not that he cared, Hope reminded himself before picking up his blade again and making for the library. He still barely knew Larsa – he mostly only stayed here for the shelter and food. And the experience he got from working.

If only it didn't come with such a price attached.

* * *

Basch squinted his eyes shut before taking off his helm. The light here in the Judge Magisters' Room was dimmed to a considerable degree so as to not throw them off-balance when they finally removed their armor for the day. The heat was another matter.

He readied himself for a much-anticipated rest before he returned to his duties. The armor was too much to remove for now, but he could take a moment without the burden of his helmet to eat and drink. It wouldn't be long before he returned to his tedious work.

Zargabaath was nowhere to be found, contrary to his typical behavior. Basch was used to taking his time with the other man and reviewing the day during their rest time. Perhaps Zargabaath had found a promising candidate for another Magister, or perhaps he got caught up in a less hopeful matter like the loathsome harassment of certain senate members.

"Fallen warrior, revived to respect in only the eyes of a dedicated few."

Basch snapped his attention to the entrance, where a man in tattered and dirtied robes approached him. Despite his ungainly appearance, there hung a silken, checkered cloth from the waist belt. How did he not hear the man enter?

"For what reason come you here?" Basch asked, hand on his sword.

"To find a path to the one string holding this nation in its own misery." The man strolled closer.

Basch jumped to his feet and readied his sword. The man appeared unconcerned. "Take your leave at once if you would avoid bloodshed!"

"I care not." The man reached out a hand and Basch stepped back. Something about that presence left a sickly feeling in his chest. "What use is there to preservation when all is to be renewed as one? Truly, there will be no delight as sweet as-"

Basch grabbed the man by the shoulder and yanked him close enough to hold the sword to his throat. "Cease your chatter! I would know your intentions if you are to leave this room yet alive!"

The man huffed out a breath. "The God of Light bows to no one."

A piercing sensation through his forehead. Flood of images and memories that lost their coherence long ago.

Basch knew torment and he knew isolation and he knew madness. But that was but a speck of dust in the scope of this cosmic insanity that spanned space and time.

Or was that another lifetime? Was his imprisonment of Basch's life? Or Shinra's? Which Shinra? Boy or man? Male or female? Eos or Gaia?

Whoever he was, he recognized that there was an inherent desire born within him to find another vessel, to spread his influence and shake the worlds to their cores. To make ready his denizens to receive him as their lord and in doing so, prepare them with war and bloodshed, with chaos and anarchy and confusion so immense they would accept a brand-new deity into their midst.

He knew the strength brought on by collecting so many bodies and memories and people and lives and he knew the difficulty to retain his divinity and wisdom when so many ill-fitted vessels competed for dominance over his. But he couldn't stop himself from taking the chance to ripen one more world.

When he took in the sight of the room again, God barely spared the broken and bleeding body of his old vessel a glance before he left to find the Emperor of Archades.


	7. Chapter 7

Hope rushed through halls of immaculate stone and the finest workmanship to find where his summoner waited. He didn't think anyone would call for him outside of Gabranth and maybe Larsa or the others in the medicinal ward, but evidently it still mattered when a servant in a certain pattern of robes told him where to find one sky pirate.

Finally, he burst into the library and moved at a brisk pace toward a specific study area.

Balthier waited on a plush chair made of the finest fabric and cushions, one elbow propped on the armrest and his free hand holding a history of airships as written by one popular historian and enthusiast in the arts of machinery and technology.

Hope stumbled to a halt and gave a quick bow. "You called, sir?"

"Ah, yes." Balthier set the book down and gestured for Hope to take the seat across. "His Majesty keeps you busy, I take it?"

"Yeah." Hope sunk into the chair and struggled to find a formal-ish position in such plush cushions. "Well, he delegates to certain people and it's them that keep me busy. I'm, uh, sorry about your eyes, you know. I didn't mean to do that."

Balthier waved a dismissive hand. "Nothing a little white magic couldn't resolve. In fact, I wanted to ask about your commitment to this place because I know a certain crew that would appreciate having a talented mage like yourself. They would pay handsomely and you'd have the chance to get out and see the skies."

"You don't seem like the kind to go recruiting."

"Oh, there's strings attached, of course. I've been promised a hefty sum, for one, if they happen to like you and I would very much like to collect. But I've also heard rumors that you're not quite fitting in with the imperial life and being such a kindly fellow, I thought I'd give you an option."

Hope flushed. "Is it obvious?"

"Going by your yet-untamed hair and ghastly arrangement of robes, it isn't subtle, no."

"But these are my wing's uniform."

"Then your wing should reconsider their designer. Anyways, I'm not here to chat, lovely as this venue is. Are you in or out?"

Hope stuttered, "I can't think about it?"

"You can think about it all you like, but I need an answer within the next couple of minutes. I've some business to attend to with my partner on the other side of the country and I must return before nightfall."

"Hey." A silver-haired lady approached them. "Hope. How you doing?"

"You're…" Hope hesitated. "Do I, uh, know you?"

"And that," Balthier quipped, "is why you're clearly the most analytical mind of our generation."

The lady sighed. "The day you went nuts? I caused it."

"The day I…." Hope furrowed his brow. "Oh! Because… Why did that happen?"

"Beats me." She folded her arms. "But I've also got a bit of an offer for you. How would you like to remember who you used to be?"

"I don't understand."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." The lady looked at Balthier. "Hey, I'll see you in ten years."

Balthier gestured with a flick of his fingers and she left. "Now, as I was saying, you have a good amount of gil to get me paid. I suggest you come with me and see how the life suits you."

"But Larsa-"

A commotion started near the entrance to the library and Balthier rolled his head on his shoulders. "If a man could finish his negotiations in peace, it'll be the day I quit drinking."

"You drink a lot of wine?"

"No, I'm referring to water. It's terribly ill-advised not to keep yourself hydrated and I like to keep healthy."

"Oh."

That robed man that stalked Hope came their way, flanked by muttering librarians. Hope jumped to his feet and backed away. "Please," the man said with a strained voice. "He's going to find your emperor, the child."

"Pardon." Balthier stood. "I'm not one to barter with strangers. If you'll take your threats elsewhere…"

Hope forced a swallow at all the blood dripping from the man's robe.

"It's not a threat." The man's words broke in patterns that struck Hope as disturbingly familiar. "Please. I'm in no state to handle him myself and he took the shadow that follows the child, the Judge-"

There was no other presence to the visitor this time.

"I'll go with you." Hope chocked back his fear and started up a cure. "Where did this happen?"

"Judges' Respite." The man breathed easier with the magic. "But he'll head for the Emperor's Overlook."

Hope paused. "How do you know so much about the place?"

"I couldn't tell you." The man stumbled toward the exit. "But never mind that – this world's fate hangs in the balance."

"Sir," said one librarian, "I must ask you to seek help in the healing wings."

"No time for that either, it seems," Balthier said with a heavy sigh. "Alas, it appears I will never be rid of my lady fate's cruel tease."

* * *

Larsa couldn't focus on the words swimming before him. Couldn't bring his pen to scrawl out the words needed to approve this plan for changed taxes on immigrants. There was nothing unreasonable to the wording and he decided to pass it, yet he couldn't help a gnawing in his stomach.

He once thought he would move past his doubts, but maybe no ruler ever adjusted to their position. Maybe he would never feel like the emperor he was supposed to be.

The door opened and Larsa heard the telling scraping of Basch's armor. "This is good timing," Larsa said without looking up. "I was just wondering if-"

He cut off when plated fingers wrapped around his throat and yanked him from the chair.

Larsa choked and looked down into the exposed, mad eyes of Basch.

His guardian. His friend. His-

"A sacrifice must be made," hissed the man in a two-toned voice. "This stray yet has a part to play and this world must be broken before peace is found."

"What-?" Larsa couldn't speak past the constriction in his throat. His lungs burned and his vision clouded. He flailed in place, panic taking over, and memories flashed before his eyes of the mines and the plains and the desert sand.

"It will hurt for but a moment and then you may know eternal rest."

Larsa gagged and fought for breath, but nothing came.

Then he crashed into the ground and his skull cracked against the floor. Basch breathed hard and blood seeped from a split in his cheek. "The cosmos has left sanity and flowers must bloom and wilt before the new beginning dawns. Before the sun sheds its light on creation anew."

Larsa bit back tears and struggled to find strength enough to stand.

"It is not fit for a child to choose life or death in this world." Basch closed in again and Larsa scrambled to get away.

Too late. Basch grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him back. Larsa's knees burned against the floor and he let out a cry before Basch grabbed him by the throat again.

Larsa fought him. Bit and thrashed and did all he could to get free.

Somewhere distant, someone called his name. His vision faded in and out. Caught flashes of water palaces and ocean waves and the smell of whiskey that burned his throat and helped him forget about tomorrow and yesterday.

Hit the ground again.

Cracked open bleary eyes to find Hope, Balthier, and some common-dressed man take on Basch.

Larsa's limbs shook and his attempts to call on the mist about him to summon white magic ended with sputtering light in his hands.

Balthier and the common man flanked Basch and focused their efforts on subduing him. Hope employed magic from a distance. Despite being outnumbered, Basch showed no difficulty keeping all of them at bay.

His head swam and noise muffled in his ears. His fingers went numb and his legs and arms shook too violently to use.

Basch slammed Balthier and the visitor into the wall with one blow.

Larsa fell back against the ground and felt the pull of shock lure him into a lightheaded stupor.

The last thing he remembered was Basch slamming Hope to the ground and the comforting, deep voice of his betrothed breathing his last goodbye.

* * *

Hope sat in his room, left alone by the voice and workers. Images moved about him, ghostly and yet surreal in their solidity. Despite sitting in his bed, he could swear he felt a grassy ledge overlooking a chasm in the ground that stretched on for at least a mile.

"This isn't real," he told the girl sitting beside him, whose hair was reddish-pink and tied into pigtails.

"Maybe not." Her voice was high-pitched yet soft. "But you've felt this before, haven't you?"

Hope's face heated and his throat closed. "Yes," he managed, fighting the urge to change the scenery to pristine, white walls and floating specks of light. He fought the encroaching sense of emptiness and loneliness.

"With Lightning," she said.

Feelings of betrayal and abandonment and the scent of flowers. "Yes."

"I'm sorry." The girl's voice broke. "I'm so, _so_ sorry. There's nothing I can do to protect you from what you already know."

"You've protected me in the past. That's more than I could ask from you."

Vanille sidled up to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. The scent of wildflowers pervaded his nose. "Do you remember what you told me here?"

"I…" Hope looked down to find strange shoes on his feet. "Your… smile. You have a nice smile."

"There you go." Vanille pulled away and nudged him in the shoulder. "See? It's not all bad."

"But…" He swallowed hard, tears stinging his eyes. "It will be. If I go back, then I lose this."

Vanille leaned her head against his shoulder. "Not if you remember me. I promise if you can hold on to even a shred of this memory, then I'll never stop smiling."

"But… you're not here. Right?"

A distant voice whimpered as Hope remembered days spent sleepless and insane. For a moment, he could swear he was two heads taller and wearing a different uniform, colored white, silver, and yellow. Stained in all the wrong places. With a deeper, mature voice he said, "I don't want to lose track again."

"Oh, Hope." Vanille clucked her tongue. "My dear, dear, Hope. You're already doing that. In that sense, I guess we're not too different, huh?"

As quickly as the sensation came, it vanished again, and Hope found himself back in his normal body. "Am I dreaming?"

"Yes. And no."

"Then this is different. Before, I differentiated between my dreams and waking life. If I'm doing both now, then maybe – maybe I'm not mad yet."

Vanille took his hand. "Maybe."

It wasn't true. Even as he tried to convince himself otherwise, a part of him knew for sure that it wasn't true. He'd been through this before, and he knew what it felt like to lose control over his reality. "Don't leave me," he begged, remembering how he asked the same of Lightning. "Please."

Lightning never left him.

"I won't," Vanille said, leaning into him. "We'll always be here for you."

He heard the voices of Lightning, Sazh, Snow, Fang, Serah, and Noel murmuring incoherently behind him, but he didn't turn to see them. They sounded… off.

They sounded like…

* * *

Screams around him.

Looming above him, covered in gleaming armor, Hope saw the helmet-less face of Judge Gabranth. Those eyes were open unnaturally wide.

Hope thought that looked familiar, but his head felt sluggish. When did he get here? In this room?

A strange, strangled sound escaped Gabranth's throat and Hope noticed the scar on the man's forehead contorted with the skin. Those eyebrows were so far up, they made strange ripples near the hairline.

Hope thought it was rather a trim hairline for someone he imagined to be so powerful and intimidating. But minus the insane expression, he looked… normal.

"Finally," choked out the man. Something in Hope knew this vessel wasn't at all prepared before being taken. Otherwise, the body would more naturally move with-

Gabranth grabbed Hope's throat and _squeezed_.

* * *

Lightning kneeled by his side. Hope couldn't bring himself to look up from the field of roses that dripped with blood. His blood.

"Hey."

It couldn't be her. He knew that. And yet, feeling her fingers against his broken cheek, Hope couldn't help the desire for her to be real. Couldn't help letting himself believe it, just for this moment. She reminded him of Mom, of a time nearly lost to memory, of-

Flare of pain in his abdomen. Stomach hurt. Limbs ached. Moving a finger brought a sharp and stinging sensation, like pins and needles.

"Hey." Lightning's voice was soft, though she didn't sound worried. She never did, not anymore. "Look at me. You'll be fine. It's just a little blood."

He didn't want to look. Something inside him thought that if he looked, she would vanish, or turn into a monster, or Bhu-

* * *

The memory was yanked from him, as was the weight of Gabranth's armor. Hope blinked stinging eyes and lapsed into a coughing fit. His throat burned.

"Hope!" yelled a familiar voice. His old voice. The one that protected him and carried over from his hundred years of loneliness. " _Run_!"

Balthier and Baralai fought with Gabranth, using gun and staff against-

Bhunivelze ambled through the room, movements unnatural and painful to watch. Despite his lag, energy blasted about the place, sending books flying and Balthier stumbling and Baralai scrambling.

Hope's limbs didn't respond to him trying to stand. They felt weak and distant, like they weren't his own. Panic swelled in his chest, heart beating like a drum, and he angled his head. Even his neck reacted slowly to his command.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came.

" _Hope_!"

"We have him! Leave while you can!"

"Why is it this creature wants the child anyway? Not much to be gained from an unsophisticated urchin, I'd say."

"I can't." His voice was barely audible to his own ears and it scratched against his raw throat. His tongue moved, though, so that was progress. His limbs were slower to respond. "I… can't."

"It's more complicated than–Balthier!"

Balthier caught a blast of energy and flew across the room. His head smacked against the wall.

Baralai took that opening and whipped Basch's feet out from under him.

Basch. Who was Basch?

His head pricked with pain. The link. The interrupted link.

Hope tried again to stand, only to topple over in a heap. His hand caught on something sharp and cloth ripped. Stinging pain, wet skin.

Another blast, another crack. Hope didn't see who it was this time. Hopefully not-

Rough hands forced him on his back again and Hope yelped as Basch's twisted face came into view.

For a moment, he saw the shining silver of the Ark's structure. He could see its vast depths that threatened to swallow him whole if he found the strength to jump. Tears stung the corners of his eyes.

"Your mind is now prepared," said the man, holding out a fist. "And it is time that I begin my reign. Don't shun the darkness."

At the words, Hope squinted his eyes shut against a sudden pain that pierced his head, like a nail driven through.

"Don't fear the light."

The voice inside him – the him that fought these memories and protected him for so many years, the him that suffered for years and years and years – cried out one last time and vanished.

* * *

Memories flooded him, of wandering about Nova in a daze, of seeing only Lightning's image. He focused on it so completely, he lost track of time. He remembered waking up in the streets, in rivers, in his office, in Snow's arms.

"Watch my back," Lightning repeated over and over and over and over and over and over again before disappearing in a fog.

He remembered Noel's concerned musings when the two worked together into late nights with too much alcohol and the distant promise of sleep and normalcy. Noel's strength and reassurance when they received news of missing children or murdered parents.

He remembered Snow's once-boundless enthusiasm lost to the crushing reality of Serah's death and their failed mission to save time itself. Hope's desperation to bring back the Snow that saved him, the Snow that would lift the whole world on his shoulders if he could

He remembered waking up one time to find himself in the silvery realm of the Ark, whose unworldly light spoke to him more directly than the voice itself. He remembered associating it with holy agony and divine direction.

He forgot he was ever a scientist, or Nova's leader.

* * *

Gabranth slammed Hope's head into the ground. Once. Twice. Three-

* * *

She reached for him, fingers half-gloved and glowing with the white light that surrounded them.

"I'm here."

Lightning's voice was all he needed. He dared lift his head to see her smiling at him, pale eyes reflecting the care he missed for hundreds of years. The mature strength that came from her military background, the sympathy that came from having a younger sister and learning to be a parent before she was old enough to drink, the confidence that came from overcoming gods and destiny.

Hope leaned forward, hungry for her motherly touch. For familiar comfort and the promise that he would never be alone again.

* * *

Basch fell still. Hope felt nothing despite a pool of blood gathering below him.

* * *

Hope looked up at the man, mouth moving before he thought to speak. "My god, Bhunivelze."

"Yes." Baralai, the chancellor from Spira, stood before him, strong in stance despite a multitude of scrapes, bruises, and healing scabs littering the surface of his skin. His coat, once lightly muddled and worn, now frayed at the edges and ripped in various places, showed heavy abuse. "This is good. You have done right by me."

The double voice sounded strange to Hope, but not wrong. It struck up a sense of odd familiarity, reminding him of days that turned to years inside the abandoned Cocoon above humanity.

The man's form changed to Gabranth's.

"I am yours," Hope said, though the words rang hollow in his ears. "As you are mine."

"All things belong to me, as I created them."

Hope closed his eyes in preparation for Bhunivelze to take him. He wouldn't survive, but that was fine. He learned to accept it a thousand years before on a pale silver platform, surrounded by sparkling motes and the ethereal voices of eternity.

The vessel, the innocent body of the one chosen by God, touched his hand to Hope's cheek. The second it took for the two to connect felt too short and too long, like an age compressed into the blink of an eye.

Hope leaned into the contact and felt the onslaught of emotion and apathy that collided inside him like a storm. Bhunivelze's all-consuming power took over, threatening to eject Hope's conscience completely. In his mind's eye, he saw the stars expand and nebulae explode into life.

He saw Bhunivelze's plan and all His goals and ambitions, His hate for Etro and Her glorious death that burst through creation, halting time and death in the grand scheme of the Rebirth. He saw Lightning's sword pierce His chest, breaking Him back into the Cosmogenesis. He saw the world fade as souls embarked on their journey toward their new home.

He felt the fiery rage that burned at the sight, and the life it granted Him to sleep in the depth of the void for…

Eternity.

* * *

Larsa faded in and out of consciousness.

He didn't register much of what occurred around him – mostly he made out the chaotic shapes of battling figures and blasts of magic and energy. The room fell to pieces with the commotion, papers scattering and ornaments shattering.

Basch – or, whatever being inhabited Basch's body – hurt Hope. Larsa didn't make out much, but when Hope stood again, Larsa saw too much red through the blur in his otherwise-goldish uniform.

As he watched, focus returned to him. Hope stood among broken people and broken things. Basch laid unresponsive some distance away, which sparked a hope in Larsa. Perhaps if the creature was unconscious, then-

Hope conjured a portal of some sort with a flick of his wrist.

The door burst open to reveal Seven, who screamed in rage and hate and lashed out at Hope with a whip made of singing metal.

But it was too late.

The portal swallowed Hope whole and Seven wailed on the spot where he vanished. She flew into a tearful rage, slamming the ground with her whip and crying profanities at the empty air.

"Get back here! You cosmic _bastard_! You LITTLE _SHIT_!"

Larsa struggled against his broken limbs. Everything hurt and his body protested the idea of motion given how much it pained him to not even move.

Balthier struggled to his feet and stumbled Seven's way – it looked like one of his feet was sprained at best. She wrenched away from him and released more profanity. Larsa should have found it uncomfortable – he'd never heard so much language compressed into a moment since Vaan was turned away from an aerodome for… some trivial reason.

He wished he could remember why.

The white-haired newcomer, though recovering, hung back, still as a statue, eyes wide with disbelief. One of his arms hung limp from its socket.

Larsa opened his mouth to say something, but then he wondered as to the point of speaking. What had he to say about this?

Seven yelled one final insult and stormed off, broken voice calling for a "King."

Balthier and his new friend exchanged looks. What went unspoken between them, Larsa could never guess.

The dark-skinned man then took to Basch's side. The judge appeared conscious, but he barely moved beyond a twitching of his fingers.

Balthier kneeled beside Larsa. "How is it for you?"

"… Hurt." A heat rose in his face, shock took over, and tears spilled from his eyes. "It hurts."

"Yes, I see that." Balthier dragged a tired hand down his chin. "Bit of a situation we've made for ourselves, isn't it?"

Larsa grit his teeth, but his cheeks kept wet and swollen. Moved an arm and regretted it for the pain that shot through him.

"Not to rush you," said Balthier, "but it looks like we could use a dose of white magic here, as well."

"I got it."

"Who…?" Larsa squinted against the light in the room. Did a curtain come down? Or several?"

"A new acquaintance." Balthier glanced toward Basch. "A friend, I hope, but time has yet to make that clear."

He phased out of consciousness again, as evidenced by the fact that when he blinked, the room changed. Rubble cleared away and Basch was gone, as was Balthier. The man with the white hair kneeled by his side, hands alight with magic.

The man didn't look at him – just kept healing. "I've kept the guards away–figured you wouldn't like them asking too many questions just yet."

"That… perhaps… wise." Every word was a struggle and he wanted to give in sleep. Yet he couldn't help the reminder of the faintest memories he caught from that twisted god's grasp. "Chancellor?"

The man paused. "… You felt it?"

"I felt many things." Larsa closed his eyes against the light. "Heard… and thought many things."

"I didn't realize you connected." Something about his quiet voice proved soothing. "It's worse after he's taken so many now, but it will pass with time."

"Time." The concept took a moment to solidify in his mind. "It's day."

"Yes. You're still a child and you rule over an empire. Your name is Larsa Solidor, Balthier said, and you're the last of your family."

"I remember… most of that."

"Good." The white magic left him. "You should feel like yourself again within a week or two, then. Might even be a matter of days."

Larsa opened his eyes despite the brightness and looked up at the man. "It feels better."

"I've been learning."

"So many worlds and so many methods. How do you keep track of it all?"

"Practice."

His voice was so monotone – it took a bit for Larsa to realize how flat his whole demeanor appeared. He barely twitched his mouth one way or the other, nor did he lift an eyebrow or appear to breathe. "You forgot how to feel, too?"

"No." Baralai rested his arms over his knees and leaned away. "I still feel. Sometimes, at least. But perhaps my body doesn't show it like it used to."

Larsa felt the faintest alarm. "What about me?"

"Bhunivelze didn't get as much time with you. You'll smile and despair again as usual soon enough. The fact that you ask such is evident of that."

"I see."

Baralai stood and straightened himself out. "I'm going to move you to a recovery room, if that's okay with you."

Larsa blinked, though the motion hurt. His eyelids felt so heavy. "… Of course."

"One moment."

Normally, Larsa considered himself a man of pride and dignity and he could walk himself to a hospital if need be. But then, he was so tired now that he thought he might sleep away the night here if allowed to and a real bed sounded like paradise itself.

The man hefted Larsa into his arms and showed surprising strength despite his lean frame and harried appearance. "Take time to rest," he said. "You'll need it if you don't want your people getting on your case later."

Silence fell. With nothing to distract him but the familiar walls and windows of the palace, Larsa gave in to sleep again.


	8. Chapter 8

Larsa still ached from the encounter a week later. Most every part of him felt some discomfort at moving and he had stitches in so many places that bathing had become a sort of artform comprised of washing without somehow disturbing his bandages and healing injuries.

In the quiet of his sitting room, Larsa faced down the man responsible and wished he had a familiar face to provide him backup. He missed Basch for his typical assurance and wisdom in these situations, but at the same time, the thought of seeing him again left a twisting knot of dread in his stomach.

Baralai – an odd name, and not one Larsa had ever heard of in his travels – wore tattered traveling clothes he hadn't seen in any of the corners of Ivalice he visited. His dark skin – crisscrossed with small scars – and white hair bespoke a foreign lineage and Larsa correctly deduced from that and his strange attire that he wasn't one of this world.

"I'm sorry," said Baralai with a lilting accent. "What happened to the boy was my fault."

Larsa was tempted to agree with him, yet despite his natural inclinations, he couldn't bring himself to say it. "It was out of our hands," he said, repeating the same thing he'd been telling himself over and over this past week. "It appears the gods are playing a game in which we were not intended to be players."

Baralai leaned forward and linked his hands together while his expression showed the weariness and experience that came with long life. Thanks to that, Larsa found it difficult to place his age. "We may be mortal, but I'm not satisfied with the idea of sitting by while these gods interfere with the lives of my friends."

Larsa rested his staff by the chair and straightened. He was emperor, and he was autocrat. It was his responsibility to take charge. "You wish to find answers."

"Yes."

"I know a man that might know the method you need. I will bring him and his friend here to speak with you. But what do you plan to do once you obtain the ability to travel across space? Would you follow this god across the universe? Across time?"

"And if possible, I'll kill it."

"So long as you know that Archadia is on your side."

"We'll need all the help we can get after all the people this thing has taken."

"How many?"

"… Dozens, at least. Not all of them make it far, though it leaves a mark on every world he visits."

Larsa looked to Baralai's ruined clothing and scarred skin. "They all suffer such?"

"Yes." Baralai looked away. "I wish he'd taken me sooner."

"It's unfair for your mind to be not your own."

"It's not the first time an angry spirit has taken me – I should have been stronger this time. I could have resisted him."

"I think you'll find the influence of gods to be stronger than that of man. I worry there may not be much strength left in us to fight that of the divine." Larsa thought of Vayne's twisted body. "I used to tell myself that the gods required consent to take root in the hearts of man, but the more I find myself exposed to such things, the more I find that power stronger than any man and unheeding of our willpower."

Baralai said nothing to that, expression distant.

Larsa leaned back. "I'll send you to Al-Cid and offer my friends as companions. I suspect they would be glad to accompany you."

"I don't need company. I still have his power, if not his madness."

"Maybe not, but it would be beneficial all the same." Larsa gave him a hard look. "It isn't good for us to be alone – I've seen too many loved ones driven mad by loneliness."

Baralai nodded without looking any more optimistic. "I suppose I'll end up staying on this world a little longer and count myself lucky to return at all to Spira. I shouldn't try before I've removed the last trace of him."

Larsa felt a stab of sympathy then. He couldn't imagine being cast off from Ivalice without chance of return. "What's it like?"

"Spira? Full of water, I think. Color, too. Even the villages erected on the edge of the shores hang tapestries and banners from their windows and I never appreciated the hues for their vibrancy until I left. Our buildings weren't so large, though."

"I should think not. I've yet to see anything so big as this palace."

Baralai smiled at that. "There _are_ larger structures. We simply have yet to find them under the ruin and rubble."

"I'll impatiently await your report, then, as it is yet unlikely I'll ever leave Archades."

With a deep breath that moved his whole frame, Baralai said, "Don't resign yourself to it. That's what I thought myself before being ripped so unceremoniously from my home."

A knock at the door and Larsa looked to the clock. It was late for guests. "Yes?"

Basch entered, back in his armor, and gave a formal bow. "Your Imperial Majesty."

Larsa forced himself to swallow and breathe. His instincts reminded him what happened last time Basch entered his room. "Judge Magister Gabranth."

"If you would allow it, I wish to return to my duties."

Larsa didn't miss the hesitant look Baralai gave them both.

"O-of course." Larsa planted a hand on his desk to steady the tremors. "Please. I wouldn't want you to feel so constrained in your rest."

Basch nodded and took slow steps his way. Larsa didn't take his eyes off the man, watched every move and motion. Studied the hand that gripped the hilt of his sword like it was a masterwork art piece. One that could slice straight through him in a second.

Basch stopped beside him without looking his way. Larsa noticed at least a meter in difference between where he usually stood and where he was now – the man gave Larsa extra distance.

Baralai cleared his throat and stood. "I've taken too much of your time. I'll message you if I need anything."

"Yes," Larsa managed before Baralai disappeared behind the door.

An awkward moment passed and Larsa kept his eyes on that door. "It won't be much longer before I retire for the night."

"I understand."

Larsa looked to the clock. He had papers to sign and proposals to review and messages to pen. But his fingers shook like he was out in the Paramina Rift without anything to protect himself.

Without looking, he slowly extended one hand to reach for Basch's. Larsa swallowed and didn't look to see if he noticed – just found that gauntlet and gripped it close. His heart hammered in his chest, but the need for strength overcame him.

Basch didn't pull away. Just took a step closer and returned his hold.

And they stayed like that until it came time to retire.


End file.
